To Find Peace
by AlteraPars87
Summary: A story of healing. Maskless and broken, he sets out on a path that leads him away from the ghost he once was. His heart will find solace in one who knows that the worst scars are deep within.
1. Chapter 1

**Stranger**

The curtain had fallen in the moment of his catharsis.

The Phantom was condemned to remain a phantasm.

A man was alive.

In all the ghastliness, in all bestiality, just a man.

Alive and in pain. Some things just go together. Birth, death, love - pain will follow.

In his heart, in his soul, in his mind... Something has altered within, and how it hurt! Not even physical. But not any less real.

Having forgotten what it was like to be just a man, he hid in the shadows - the old habit carved into his bones. For weeks of torment, many agonizing nights have passed sleepless. He couldn't find the reason... Not one single cause to stand on his own two feet and move on. All he knew was that he had to go and leave the ghost behind.

Holding the ring, watching the silhouette of the Opera palace from afar, the great cupola keeping the extent of destruction hidden from his eyes, he couldn't look at it without envisioning that grand chandelier being shattered into pieces. Just like his world.

Motionless, like an apparition in the night, he said his goodbye. _I will carry you within me till my very end. But I must leave or I will die of sorrow._

The one he loved couldn't love him back. And yet she found courage for an act of mercy. Or at least she thought it to be mercy. Such a cruel thing.

He had to let go. It's over now. He had to say it himself, to shout it out, only that way could they believe it.

They were set free. He was left behind, unable to walk away from himself. And the curtain had fallen.

For him, the story wouldn't end there.

Where does one go when he has lost everything?  
>The instinct won over the tormented mind and the bleeding heart. Run - it was an instinct screaming. And run he did. Southern shores perhaps, all the way down to the Mediterranean, or the eastern borders, he still hasn't chosen. Just leave, it wouldn't be his first time to disappear for good. Or hide - somewhere along the way, never mind where as long as it wasn't near her.<p>

He followed the Seine. Or went against it, the opposite direction.

Astray he was, all his life.

It wouldn't leave his mind. After the thick blindfold of deception weaved around her eyes had fallen, all the masks fallen to the ground...  
>Ripped of pretense and illusion, he had been revealed as just a man - a sad and lonely creature, condemned to his own dark misery. Yet, if she could have brought herself to kiss him that night, tell him that he is not alone, make him believe it in that precious moment... And then leave him so alone, yet so very alive!<br>Countless times had he wondered why they'd let him escape.

If she could have given him one moment to treasure... A broken man, sinful, the one who betrayed her in a way so unimaginable... Then why?!

Why had they condemned him to remain unlovable?

Why the very person who had created that gap within? He recalled little of his mother. He remembered a desperate and depending love, begging for crumbs of affection. It had been in vain. No arms to hold him. As if he'd come out of a snake's nest. Cold, alone, damned to loathing. But he had loved her once.

When a child is in pain, it cries. When no one answers, it keeps crying within. Is there a pain to match one of a hurting child?  
>What sin could he have committed towards his own mother? Blaming himself, unsure, unable to understand; he may not be worthy of her forgiveness, but damn it all if he does not deserve an answer!<p>

_Why didn't you love me? Look what I've become now!_

Weeks after, he suddenly stopped, made a hideaway deep in the country, a lonesome spot, waiting for a recluse. The lonesome child of wilderness, there he settled. He could cry his heart out into the river, he thought. But the heart still remained within him. Perhaps hoping that his mind would find some peace away from the world.

This river was no Lethe. No promise of oblivion.

Then again, it was not the wrong waters after all. Years before, he had seen the ending. The place where the Seine flows into the sea. Now, he was looking at the other end. A river flows from a source, no matter how far and how wild. And then it ends, one way or another. Everything does.

Death would be the end, and why, there is much more pain in life itself. No, he didn't feel like dying. How strange, since he had already survived, he may just as well live. If she had let him get out of his dungeon alive, then he had no right to alter that. Almost as if they've obliged him to survival.

Convicted him to a life with himself, that is.

The idea came to his mind as he woke up under the bridge. A tramp he was, perhaps. Not seeking for shelter but for reason.

He had to go where everything began.

Such a simple decision. It took all the courage. The first step the hardest part. Nothing pleasant waiting for him.  
>Once there, what? At one instant he felt like rampaging through the house of his birth in front of Mother's accusing eyes. And then, like falling at her feet and begging for whatever crumbs he might get. If only for a little sign of affection or belonging. It was maddening.<p>

She might not even be there anymore. There might be no traces left.

It didn't matter. One can not sleep by the water and rely on hope that the current won't carry him away.

Either the gendarmerie or the leaking wooden boat, something would make him jump. He wouldn't wait for either.  
>And if this was merely an excuse to run away from his pit of despair, it was good enough.<p>

Perhaps it was a only a desperate move.

With only a few items saved from his shelter, he was free. No souvenirs. Only one.

The ring. And the precious memories deep within.

* * *

><p>He was walking the longest roads. Alone. In shades. Some things never change.<br>One thing had to.

His face was not covered by a mask anymore.

_The mask..._ He had tried to make himself appealing before the eyes of a gullible girl who lived on her fantasy. She wouldn't have wanted too see the truth, he knew. The mask had been an illusion of normalcy. He didn't deserve it any longer.

Though humiliating to walk the world exposed, it was the only way now. He hid from the gazes under the shadow of his hat. _My shame. My curse. Leave it open for the world to see. _They ask less questions then as if the shame is transferable or the horror contagious.

The dry winds irritated his eye and mottled it with tiny red vessels, the tears leaking incessantly. Just like the heart. Cracked and weeping.

That fateful night, his grand finale as a Phantom... He has been overflown, never having felt so many things in his life... Too much all at once and it crushed him! Touching, grasping, kissing, cowering, sweating, bleeding, crying, tearing, excitement, anxiety, yearning, betrayal, despair, detest, pleading, hoping, devastation... Overloaded!

Christine had tossed the first stone and it all came down on him with full weight like an avalanche.

Something had broken within him.

The soles of his feet hurt but he kept on walking. _Pain... it's good._  
>Physical pain kept him distracted from the bleeding wound within his chest, a scar thrived inside of him and he wondered if anything would be left of his heart once the scars prevail.<p>

With every step he was leaving the Phantom behind.

A broken spirit remained.

His body protested against his self deprivation. His mouth felt dry. His head felt just as heavy as his legs. Rarely he resorted to spending the night close to people.  
>They lived so simply, so unknown to him, his curiosity would lead him closer still, observing. Simplicity and a home no matter how humble, seemed to be a gift, bringing peace - something he would never have.<p>

He wasn't lost, just carried away. Deliberately changing the direction, perhaps, weeks have turned into months. As long as he was moving, when or where to didn't matter much. Drifting. Aimless.

Maybe it was a path of repentance. It had nothing to do with the God he didn't believe in, nor was there faith that the destiny of a lost soul could be changed.  
>But he began understanding the power of moving on his own two, led by something unexplainable.<p>

He gave in to the drift, walking on sidetracks, left and right from the Seine, through the woods, across the paths, around the villages, where common life was led - so very simple it seemed, such fascinating simplicity... Yet always returning to the main course. But not near Paris again, he wouldn't come close.

After a lifetime of avoiding people like a timid wolf, he had gotten used to the idea of sleeping in a barn and stretching out on the hay rather then spending his nights out, engaging in physical labor in exchange for a meal on his plate and a night in a dry place. As if he had forgotten and now remembered how it feels to work for his living.

He learned a lot. To earn what one needs. That simply.

Approaching the people, softened by the shatter, he was interested in the easy way they correlate, learning to say as much as a simple «thank you».

Even a starving wolf comes closer to the village.  
>In his exile, he had never lost that feeling of tension. There was always the risk, he knew and didn't care. Though he knew one thing: he would not be brought to trial, he would not allow them to expose him or execute him.<p>

He'd rather seal his own fate.  
>There was still something alive in him. Darn that defiant pride! Or the mere remnants of it.<p>

Isolated for years, he was now thrown into the world without mercy, unshielded like a newborn, forced to mingle with people.  
>People had been cruel to him, the evidence imprinted into his skin and his soul.<p>

He hated to be stared at but the world rather chose to avert their eyes. They either shun or pity. How he hated pity!  
>Sometimes, though rarely, there would be neither, when he'd get away as any other, normal human. They had no reason to think otherwise, he gave them none.<br>No angels, no ghosts that would be associated with him.

No longer was he a starving beaten boy, nor a skinny young man on the run and discovering the world.

He was not in a cage and they wouldn't laugh at his misery ever again.

Taking the role of a man, a common worker, he tried to attract as little attention as possible. Out of the city, people bothered with their simple lives instead of affairs in Paris. It was not a part of their world. Here everything had a simple cost.  
>He'd buy himself a warm and dry place for the night. That's what his life came to... He had <em>nothing<em>.

Yes, everything had it's cost but it was not always estimated in money.  
>Safety had a price. Christine's kiss had a price, just as her boy's life had it, and it was very high. His pride... He had little left, had he?<p>

Perhaps the act of self-sacrifice and letting go was the only honorable thing to do, but it hurt so much.  
>It hurt to feel, to think, to try to get her out of his mind.<br>The latter was futile, he could as well try to rip his own heart out of the chest.

To forget was impossible.

It hurt being a man.

Deeper into the unknown he wandered. Further away. Names of places couldn't mean any less to him. Nothing seemed as desolated as his mental prison in those cold cellars.  
>«Further away» was good enough for him.<p>

A twist of Fate made him turn from the road and come across another forgotten place.

This time he was headed towards a little wooden house on the edge of the forest. It seemed a better option then walking into a village out in the open land. He preferred to keep distance.

Prying around a bit, he discovered a woman in a garden, no signs of a man or children anywhere around. She already noticed a stranger and as there was no chance for him to get around unseen, he decided to try his luck.

It seemed ridiculous to rely on his damned luck, it hadn't done him much good. Though he was still alive and mostly in one piece.

The woman was the first one to speak out, squinting from afar. "Looking for my help at this hour? It would kill you men to come while the day is still clear and I can have a better look, eh?"

"_Bonsoir, Madame_." The sound of his words did not fit his appearance. He knew he must have looked like a vagabond on the first sight, dusty and unshaven.  
>Not that it mattered, without the mask, without a reason to leave an impression of what he aspired to be, he couldn't care less. "No, just passing by and looking for a place to settle for the night."<p>

He felt a chance coming along. There was that awkward moment of silence that preceded the point where he'd get a little advantage.  
>A foundation for a believable lie.<br>And he was a damn good liar.  
>He could wait. People always made presumptions and they'd give themselves away, hearing what they wanted to hear. But maybe he wouldn't have to build a shameless structure of falsehood, after all. Sometimes it would build itself on it's own, though.<p>

"Come closer." She was taking him in as he stepped out of the shadow.

_How brave of you, woman, can you already tell?!_

"And I suppose it has nothing to do with that inflamed eye?"

She said nothing about his face, although he noticed how her eyes widened in unpleasant surprise for a second when she saw what's hidden under the hat, blatantly been examined him for a few moments until deciding that she had seen worse things in life.

It was frustrating, how come that people have «seen worse» all of the sudden?!

The infamous trait of causing horror was his curse and sometimes even a privilege.  
>How could this be happening now? Or is it possible that people's hypocrisy goes to this extent?<br>That it is absolutely horrifying to see a face like his on a child, on an angel, under the masque of a «Don Juan»?  
>But a vagabond, a commoner can simply get away with it?<br>It angered him to be stared at, he looked away but kept calm.

"May be, it is troubling me more than usual for days." There, on the plain truth a nicer kind of lie would weave itself.

"Come inside and I'll see what I've got for that." She stepped towards the house inviting him in.

He hesitated. "There really is no need..." He all but started walking away, knowing that he can't allow the anger show, not now.

"Look, I can wait but the night won't, come inside while I call out for my girl and boil the water." Trying to maintain conversation, she presumed he must be one of those men who would follow a chance for a job here and there, moving on from time to time. "Looking for work?"

How insane, he was convinced, to have it all going so normally. "You could say so."

As he found himself in a company after such a long time of silence, he realized how much he had missed simply forming a voice, hearing another turn to him. How strange for an isolated introvert.  
>Before, long before, it had usually been Madame, his loyal accomplice and the closest thing he had to a friend. <em>What must you think of me now, Madame?!<em>  
>Then there was Christine who naively confided in him all of her troubles, doubts and longings until she finally realized what he really was.<p>

Only a few words... with another person. So little, so much contained in it.

Now he was sitting by a table, next to a fire, under a roof, talking over a cup of chamomile tea.  
>Simple interior rich with peculiar details, countless plants placed in the jars or hanging from the walls and beams. Some he recognized, but some were equally unfamiliar to him. The soothing smell of herbs overwhelmed and intoxicated him. His hostess, Josephine, had to be a local herbalist.<br>As he was to take a sip, she stopped him "No, this one is for your eye, take this kerchief, soak it in and hold it over your lids. I'm making another one for us." "So, just passing by, you say?"

He was more comfortable as he held a piece of fabric over his eye and partly over face.  
>More of himself, when less of him was revealed.<br>As she kept asking, he was telling a story only close enough to the truth not to be an obvious lie. Something ordinary and easy to believe in.  
>All along feeling examined, the way she listened to him seemed like she was paying more attention to the way he spoke than the content itself. What a strange sensation.<p>

Suddenly the rain started beating on the windows and he heard someone enter. Caught unprepared, standing there about to take something from his bag, immediately forgetting what, surprised by a presence of someone else and as he looked upon the doorway, he remembered his hostess mentioning «her girl» earlier on. How could he forget?

* * *

><p>The first thing Isabelle felt when she entered the house was a strong stream of shivers in her spine as she found herself staring face to... what ever was left of the face that was staring back at her with cold expression.<br>_A Stranger._  
>Yes, there was something terribly wrong with his face but it was his cold eyes that were unreadable. Suddenly uncomfortable, she felt observed by him.<p>

She didn't like being watched. Not ever _like that_.

It was supposed to be just another ordinary evening and now it was disrupt. She didn't like change.

She didn't like strangers.

Both of them turned to Josephine as she introduced them and briefly explained that "_Monsieur_" will be staying through the night, in the attic, of course, since there is no free room in this matchbox of a house.  
>Isabelle gave her a look, the meaning of which was confusing to the man who wasn't even supposed to see it.<p>

She drew back. Alone, in silence, no questions.  
>Stay invisible, keep away. Leave it be.<br>What was she to do? Trying to follow her own work, the girl couldn't relax until the newcomer retrieved. It didn't take him long. As if he knew that he must go.

As his hostess led him upstairs he remarked that the girl must be scared of him. She sighed speaking under her voice. "She can get quite timid from time to time. Leave her be."

"You daughter?"

"No. But very dear to me."

A protégé, almost like a daughter. That sounded too familiar. He needed something to keep his thoughts from running back in time.

"Your roof is leaking." He declared it as the most natural situation in the world.

"Indeed it is. There is no man in this house to take care of such things so I improvise."

A few old cans were set in all the critical places.

She looked at him, then at the roof again, already arranging the bargain in her mind.  
>A <em>man<em> was exactly what she needed. And right before her was a man in need.

Life is quite simple when you bare it to the core, she'd often say.  
>"So, you're skilled with tools, you say?" Her finger pointed up to the roof. "If you can fix that I promise to feed you and wash your clothing."<p>

He gave an examining look over the top of their heads. It was madness. This was not the life he knew. It hasn't stopped him. "If you mean _all_ of the holes your roof is made of, it will take quite some time."

"Look, I don't usually have strangers stay in my house and I demand that you respect that, but... Food and lodging? I can't pay you in money. Think about it."

It was acceptable. It would keep him occupied.  
>Just another little turn on his way...<br>He took in his newly arranged occupation and already noticed the troublesome failure in the structure. It was a wreck. So was he. "I'll think about it."

She went downstairs to warm up some water for him and find some covers. Isabelle quit sorting the linden flowers on the table and gave her an inqusitive look.

"You needen't worry about him, girl."

"He is a stranger." Her haven shook up and there was nothing she could do.

Since she didn't seem to believe, Josephine revealed a little mischief.

"I have put a little extra valeriana in his tea." It would grant him a night of good sleep, and some security to them. She doubted that the trick performed on the guest would do much for the girl, though.

The girl covered her mouth in a shock. "How much does «a little extra» mean?"

"He'll sleep like a baby." Josephine gave her a perfidious smile. "What?! He looked exhausted. Poor devil, it looks like fortune hasn't smiled upon him recently. At least he'll get some proper rest now." Then she quit defending her own insidious act and stated calmly: "You look like you need some yourself."

Isabelle knew that the woman standing in front of her would listen only to her own hunch. Sadly, she couldn't trust it. "How long will he be staying?"

"As long as it takes."

* * *

><p>As the rain poured down beating on the window panes, Isabelle was tossing and turning on her cot, trying to sleep, then to read, all in vain, she couldn't relax nor concentrate with her restless thoughts.<p>

Just when she managed to relax and adjust to the routine, trying to get a hold on her life... The steady balance threatened to sway dangerously. It didn't seem fair.

Then she gave up, closing her eyes and waiting for the ennui to do it's aim. Nothing helped. How could it possibly?  
>She decided to have some of that tea, stalking out of her room without a single sound. There was a stranger in the house and she couldn't get used to the idea. <em>A man.<em>

Everything changed.

Up on the attic a dark lonely creature listened to the sound of raindrops falling into a wooden bucket out of any regular rhythm. He was homeless. It just hit him. Exiled from his lair, he had no place he could call home anymore. He had no friend.

No lover. He winced at the mere thought of Christine's kiss, pressing a clenched fist to his lips and his forehead, shutting his eyes.

No love.

Not even his mother had wanted him near. And that certainly wouldn't change now.  
>He had survived on his own many times before, he'd do it this time, but... It was so damn hard to find a reason to move on.<p>

Only with regrets and an aching heart.

He was _alone_.

He took the ring out, as he did many nights before. A sad little ritual.

Keeping that cold item and watching it glint in his darkness, it symbolized his loyalty to the one he would never have. He held the ring in the centre of his palm, right there where she had placed it and folded his fingers around herself to make sure he kept it there once she's gone. He did the same now, condemned to relive the scene every night.

No gentle hand to hold his own.

Tired and miserable, he finally let the sleep overcome him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Games of hiding **

She has always been an early riser, ready to rise along with the sun.  
>Usually she would just rush outside and fetch the water.<br>Now, with the _stranger_ in the house, she was alert and careful.  
>It took her more time than usual as she fumbled with the ties of her clothing, still dazed sleepy.<br>The presence of a man hovered above her just like the clouds across the sky. Even if at distance, even if no storm, they still threw their shadows down. There was nothing she could do about it. Only cover up or hide, knowing that it's only for a while.

Summer rains returned frequently from evening to evening. Last night's downpour left the puddles of mud all over the yard and she followed an improvised path made of old boards, careful not to step on a line or a crack.  
>Knowing that she was far too old for such nonsense, she couldn't help it. What do years even mean? They are just numbers, how could they make a person mature? Sometimes she felt like a child, and even more often, like she had passed twice as many years spending her youth in vain, hiding from the world.<br>With a long stride she passed another cracked board.  
>It was a silly game, she knew nothing bad would happen if she missed one, but somehow it set her mind at ease.<p>

Games had rules, after all. And rules gave her a sense of control.

She was a mistress of her own path.

The sun was still low on the horizon and she stopped for a while to watch the palette of colors spreading across the low clouds, spilling from the sky down to earth, only to fade more and more with every moment that passed. A feast for her eyes. Blackbird's song calling out to her through the quietness, a music for her ears. The fresh breeze stirred the air and grazed her skin. A new day, a new beginning.

Dawn was filling her with strength and hope just as dusk would pervade with anxiety and melancholy. Days passing by with the dance of light and dark, one after the other, on and on. _How long has it been? My God, I still haven't got the courage. It is long past time. This is not my home, this is not my life... _

She splashed water over her face and ran wet fingers through her hair and down her neck. Looking around the garden she came to a conclusion that it urgently needs some care and that meant pulling out the weeds would be her distraction for the morning.

And by all means, she needed a good distraction.

* * *

><p>Numb. That's exactly how he felt. If a joist was to break and smash against his skull, which wasn't such an impossible scenario, he wondered if he'd even get to feel it properly.<br>One of the things he desperately needed at the time was a good sleep.  
>He couldn't remember the last time he had slept through the whole night. His conscience - where had that been till recently - gone wild, his doings, the lives he took, the lives in which he left indelible traces... These things were always lurking, waiting for the moment he'd close his eyes. Not that last night was blissful and dreamless but at least it was calm. And he woke calm and numb. Recalling everything, he realized that was exactly how he felt last night. Only that dizzy heaviness was gone now.<p>

He recalled all the lies made up yesterday, repeating them in his mind while dressing and descending. Left the city, going north-west, finding some work, finding family..._ Oh, yes, and I'm a murderer, you don't mind having one under your roof, do you? _

His hostess was preparing some kind of a flour soup with yesterday's bread when she noticed him in the kitchen. Though having heard the squeaking sound of old boards, she could swear that he couldn't get so close just yet. She tried to hide the surprise meeting his sudden and sullen appearance. "So, how did you sleep? Not what you're used to, eh?."

Puzzled with his answer, suddenly she was uncertain whether he may be aware of her ruse from last night, as he remarked: "Whatever it was that you have put in that tea, it served well."

She put a smile on her face. "Now, I better feed you well, you look horrible."

And he felt the same. His voice was hoarse and deep, vocal cords still asleep, he cleared his throat. "It makes no difference, madame."

If Hell is here on Earth, he thought, I already know the way. But I'm stuck here, aren't I? Like in some devilish folk tale. This woman... She definitely belonged in one. Not that he could explain it. She had her wits, yes, but there was much more to it.

He buried himself alive in the piles of wooden material that might serve to fix that ruin above their heads. Along the way, arguing with himself about the waste of time in the middle of nowhere. But he had time. Maybe he didn't have the guts. _You idiot! You should already be miles ahead. Coward! It is just another excuse. _  
>Aside with Mother, she had never cared about him, he had no other reason to return. So why bother? Why, beg another crumb of affection? He could have been near Marseille by now, or Le Havre, either way leaving France for good. If only the brain could make his heart stop pounding in a different way.<p>

And here he was, heading back to the house with a burden. Both literally and metaphorically.

Some mad Sun god up there seemed to relish in burning his eyes and the sensitive skin. He was sweating out up on the roof. This must be what Hell is like. Endless trying and no real ending of the torture. Like Sisyphus. Like his whole life.

His throat burned, thirsty as a man wondering throughout the desert.

He could see the girl down in the garden. She didn't care to look up, ignoring him as though that would make him vanish. How rare, how daring, to ignore him.  
>How liberating, really.<br>He just might evaporate or turn to smoke.

Thirsty as dry ground nonetheless, he kept looking back down. There was water.

She was there as well. Disregarding his presence.  
>Men, common men who minded their own business didn't care all that much. Women would either shun him away repulsed or show pity which would make himself pull away instead. This one did neither. She simply let him be.<p>

Perhaps that was the way he should live. To simply_ be_, one day at a time.

In response, one of the boards crushed under his weight and only by a quick reaction did he succeed to hold himself on the other one.  
>That was when he noticed Josephine standing on the ladder laughing and shaking her head, unapproving. "Don't kill yourself just yet, I already have a reputation of bringing trouble among those fools in the village."<br>How nice, another obligation to stay alive a while longer. It angered him, why, another one pretending to care.

"They might think I've had a madman locked up in the attic. And I need you to do your part of our deal."

_But I am a madman hidden in your attic, aren't I?_

Then he noticed the reason she came up, brought him some water, as if she could read his mind, and he greedily drank it in one breathless movement.

He expected the day to be dragging along agonizingly slowly but found that he was mistaken. The women followed their own routine and by the time they were done with most of their preoccupation, he was still fairly busy with measuring and sawing.  
>In fact, he only started getting into the work. Certainly not the most interesting or winsome assignment of his life, but it looked promising. Promising in a way of a decent distraction, something to occupy both his mind and hands. He had a thing for rooftops.<p>

He ignored invitations for dinner and was served with a dish right up there in the attic, followed by a lecturing huff from Josephine's part. He didn't find the time to look closely at the contents.

Never a slave to ordinary people's timetable, he was used to succumb to his current preoccupation whatever that might be at the given moment. He would dedicate himself to a task whilst there was enough will, motivation or inspiration to maintain so.  
>The rest of the world could wait. He'd drink some water from time to time, stretch his muscles and kept on until he'd become thoroughly drained out. It wasn't until quite later that he gave in to the growling in his stomach and cleared the plate up with almost equal dedication. <em>Look what you've become... a beast! Haven't you always been one?<br>_The day was drifting away and he never came to a conclusion that maybe rumpling up there for an entire evening was not a good idea when sharing the same roof with other people. Even the lack of decent light didn't stop him.

Cellars had always been much more convenient for the way he functioned.

For the past years he had learned very well how to exist in silence for his own good. Never out of courtesy.

Somehow, the strange tranquility seemed to surround everything except himself and at last he noticed.

It was so much different than endless chatting of ballet rats which filled his former abode every time when he'd stalk up above from his residence of algid stone and damp cellars.  
>Quiet and peaceful, with a herbal fragrance lingering all over the house, slowly he began adjusting to this place. Rarely encountering kind people before, he was unused to company.<p>

Standing, he took a peek from above, about to descend. He used to stand like that up in the rafters, just observing, invisible to those below, until some stagehand or a tiny dancer would notice. It had been too easy to disappear then, like a shadow.

Isabelle was sitting at the table, apparently reading something. He couldn't tell what, there were no other books to be seen. How befitting in a certain manner, if he took one fact into consideration:

The girl did not fit in here.

Not Josephine's family, definitely not from the village, but he couldn't think of a right picture to put her in. Knowing next to nothing, even less could he understand. She didn't talk much, at least not while he was around. Not that he would dare to ask.

She looked straight at him, addressing to Josephine: "Your strange guest is here."

His frame peered from the shadows, staring through the opening, uncertain whether it was a greeting or a reproach from her side, hearing the elder woman's answer: "About time."

Josephine looked up too. For a moment her gaze fled towards Isabelle and then back to him. Like observing an encounter between two unfamiliar cats staring at each other. Cats which are yet to determine whether they are companions or intruders in a neutral territory. "Come here, you look like a ghost up there. I already thought you'd stay until you turn to dust yourself."

The younger one said nothing but it seemed like he was given a silent permission. Tonight it went quite easy. Wordlessly, he ventured down, with a plate in his hand.

When the girl closed the script, he noticed that it is not a book but a herbarium fascicle. She handed it over to the other woman. Regardless of his inevitable presence, she didn't turn her attention towards him. "You should add your notes in, it would be a nice combination."

"Only if you write them down. You know that written word is not my greatest skill. I keep it all in my head."

"And if they fade in there someday when you grow old and forgetful?"

"Well, if I turn out to be that forgetful, I may as well merrily cook myself some oleander tea..."

He was mutely looking where to place the plate when Josephine took it from him. "Sit, you've done enough for today. Have some tea with us. Isabelle, will you?"

The girl nodded, pouring something honey colored and aromatic into a cup. She put it in front of the stranger and caught a glimpse of those eyes. The right one was still mottled with red vessels pointing out the green iris, such an obvious contrast.

"Does it hurt?" She didn't know what else to say, nor why should she at all.

He stared straight into her, as if the words burned him. How can she tell, he wondered, as if the remark was not about the eye but something beyond. And she gazed right back at him like she could see. How ironic, people saying that eyes are the mirror of the soul, his was already scorching.

"It burns. From time to time."

Even so, it was a start.

Josephine cut the moment of silence. "Still red but it looks better than yesterday. There is some chamomile left. Dear, would you give it to monsieur?"

Another cup appeared before him, a clean kerchief next to it, no words followed it, just a polite nod.

Little by little, awkwardly, they were pulled into a conversation. Trivial things. Josephine talked most of the time, she knew humankind and she knew of nature. Far often it was easier with the latter. People tend to complicate things. Either way, this place was hers and she set the rules.  
>The two quiet participants didn't mind, anything to shorten the evening and chase the uncomfortable silence away. He understood little about the need to chat. Maybe it was a game of pretense, to estimate the other person.<br>Either way, it was different when someone talked... to him. Not whispering about him in the dark corners.  
>Gradually he had gotten accustomed to people's presence but a thought often crossed his mind. <em> I don't belong with them.<em>

* * *

><p>Not much has changed for the next days. He kept on with his work, the women kept on with theirs. The days were hot and it seemed like a strange sort of penance. He - who had destroyed a large part of an Opera house, was now a builder. How nice and thoughtful of Fate to make such a twist.<p>

An apple tree was throwing a shade onto a corner of the garden but it wasn't enough. Resting awhile, she noticed two men riding on the narrow road. They were approaching rapidly but they didn't see her.  
>A sullen man on the rooftop did. He was watching her - precisely and a bit envious as she was refreshing herself by the water pump. Rules and considerations aside, he has been welcomed into the house and the attic, but the garden was <em>hers<em> and something unspoken has been keeping him at bay. She didn't have to say a word. Or maybe right because she barely did speak a word to him.  
>Noticing the newcomers, he slipped inside the attic, cursing along bitterly.<br>For all he knew, someone might have come to their senses after all and called for authorities.

Isabelle made a flinch into the shade then hurried along the wall and went inside the house.

Slowly walking towards the opening on the attic, careful not to make a sound, he placed himself in a position that enabled a quick attack from behind the back if someone was to climb the ladder.  
>His mind began creating a plan on it's own, still working the same way as it had been doing for years.<br>A piece of rope that was wrapped around a few boards might serve well, only that he couldn't take it off without making noise.  
>Lucky bastard, he didn't tie it up and would just have to rely on speed and grab it...<p>

..._if_ there was a need for such measures.

_And then what? She didn't let me escape only to do the deed again. _That poor troubled mind of his was still learning and adjusting to the fact that his heart doesn't work the same way any longer.

He _couldn't kill_ anymore.

That he'd learned lately, when finding trouble in getting out of Paris.

Sometimes it seemed like Christine had cut that chord inside of him. Snipped. She neutered him. In a metaphorical way.

_Neutered. Yes. That would be the right term.  
><em>First kiss to slice him open.  
>The second one to reach inside and tear apart whatever string she could grab, blindly and mercilessly.<p>

She would have been ashamed, everything would have been in vain, if he were to take another life. He let her go, she let him escape, but not before altering each other with deep imprints straight into the core of their very beings.  
>She set him free somehow.<br>He was hunted out of his dungeon into the broad daylight and found himself alone and naked, seeing for himself what he really is underneath all those layers of pretense and defense. And perhaps it was a good thing, the right thing but it was damn tormentous and painful.

Hesitating just a bit, the girl came behind the wall, the same one that supported a ladder that led into the attic. She looked up. There they were again, face to face through the space between crossbars.  
>She noticed him all tense and alert and knew that there must be a reason too. She didn't want to know, not then.<p>

The sudden intruders' voices were heard talking to Josephine down on the doorway. For a moment he thought that the girl might give him away but he was proven wrong. It felt like she was wordlessly asking him to keep quiet. He nodded, though he didn't understand.

He couldn't see them so he looked straight at her, this way he could notice her reaction. She leaned her head against the wall. None of them moved. Only a light breeze stirred the smooth tresses of her hair and he noticed how red it really was. Last night it seemed darker, it was a deeper shade of red even now, auburn, but under the sun that mercilessly penetrated through every opening, it seemed to be on fire. A complete contrast to the ice in her eyes, not because of their color. They were rich with blue.  
>No... there was something else, a sad coldness in her gaze.<p>

She looked back at him just the same, even if just to return the audacity, and noticed how dark and tense he is, unmoving like a lurking cat. So tall and firm, the prey would not be able to release itself from that grip. The thought was intriguing and otherwise she would have been severely distraught by it. But it was not him who was the threat.

The voices from below revealed that the men were going after poachers that have been roaming around for days.  
>Hunters, poachers, both of them predators, did it even matter? Stealing children of wilderness from the wings of nature. Not because of the reasonable need. But for their own pleasure, chasing prey, driven by their own unsatiated urge. She could see herself running wildly. Aimlessly. Away.<br>The sound of the horseshoes announced the men were leaving.

Two unmoving shadows sighed with relief, kept unseen behind the wall.

She was glad to hear them leave. The mistress of the house called out for the girl. Isabelle was the first one to move. Before walking away, she turned back and a shy smile showed on her lips. Maybe just a hint of a smile.  
>Not that people would smile to him, normally.<br>He had no idea what for, his response was simple, he nodded, a faint glint in his eyes that served instead of a returning with the same gesture. If he could, he would have responded, a most natural thing framed in human behaviour, an unconscious reaction.  
>But he hadn't smiled in a long time. He couldn't.<p>

They never mentioned it, though both aware that the other one doesn't belong there either.

* * *

><p>By dinner time, he felt the unease. In a way, company was an inhibiting thing at times. He was tired of pretense. Josephine had to climb up and lure him down at first. Her explanation was more of a lecture saying that she does not intend to dance with the plates up and down the ladder, and since he was a guest he would dine with them. Or be hungry. There was nothing else for him to do.<em> Just play the role. Pretend - you know you're good at it.<em> Shortly after, he put himself in order as much as he could and dragged his miserable self down.

"We'll have to wait a little longer. She's somewhere outside. Should have been back by now."

"Perhaps she doesn't share your enthusiasm, _madame_."

"She's not used to have other people staying here."

"There. Maybe I shouldn't intrude, after all."

"Don't be silly. She'll come around."

"I can't blame her, I could hardly pass as a pleasant company."

She took him in from head to toe. "Why? The two of you seemed fine yesterday evening. Unless something happened? I told you not to bother her." She turned from nonchalant to suspicious in a split second.

"Of course not. But it doesn't mean she ought to be glad having a strange scarred man around."

"Well..._ strange_ is yet to find out, as for _scarred_, I don't see why it would matter much, I have seen far worse."

Looking through the window, she muttered to herself: "It is the _man _which keeps her at bay."

He heard it. But he didn't exactly understand. His mind was still contemplating the previous. Scarred. Disfigured. It has been one of the reasons why kindness rarely crossed his path. People can't tell what he is but they do see that something is not right. It seemed almost too ridiculous that at this point in life, after everything he had done, it suddenly became less relevant. "How could it _not _matter? It had mattered to everyone else."

Josephine was ready to designate him as a fool. Too bad that he couldn't get it, when he seemed to be clever about everything else. "Perhaps you pay attention to the wrong things you hear."

The ambiguity of the statement puzzled him. He wasn't certain whether the woman was talking about other people or what she has said earlier. Nevermind what happened at that moment of hiding. He was the interloper here, it was pretty sure that she must have been avoiding him. It didn't feel right.

A little while later the unease passed on to Josephine, peeking through the window from time to time. It wasn't until the shuffling sound behind the front door appeared that she stopped fumbling with her fingers, cleaning the crumbs, wiping the dishes and the rest of all things which kept her occupied.

She all but sighed with relief as the girl came in. "You said you won't be gone for long."

"I felt like taking a walk."

Only then did she notice a tiny red stain on Isabelle's apron where she held a hand over her belly, and walked over to her side.

"What happened to you?" Bad things were always easy to imagine. Only to be sent right away with a shy smile on a girl's face and an answer of little sense:

"Why, I befriended a forest ghost!" About two rich handfuls of wild strawberries innocently fell down from her apron and rolled on the table. The shy smile turned into a canny one as she took one fruit into her mouth. She washed the rest and collected it into an ornate bowl.

_A ghost!_ Amused, Erik fought a grin at the innocent impertinent remark, looking down at the table. Such a silly reason! There's always some ghost in the story.

Somewhere above him the women exchanged curious looks. It was the very first time in three days that they have actually seen the man smiling, even if so faintly and awkwardly.

Josephine energetically shook out a dishcloth, still a bit angry but pretty cheerful. "Don't tell me you promised him your firstborn, that child is mine, you know!" All she got in return was one cheeky "Ha!".

This was good. As his stomach was given a will of it's own and started protesting, he gave in. The last person, one of the rare people to have joined him for a meal was his Madame. The only one who had seen him as a human being without second thoughts. The one who civilized him on the matter of holding a knife and a fork. A starved boy had been stealing food but not the manners, and she wouldn't have let him live like a savage... in the beginning. How he missed her now.

A knife and fork indeed were served next to the plate. It was not what's usually done here. He could tell that much. Three napkins that weren't there before, probably having spent more time in some drawer rather than by the plates. The glasses were recently polished too, though there was no wine, they'd be full of something else tonight, perhaps elderberry. It was obvious that the younger woman has set the table, making the best she could with the little they had.

Josephine's inquisitive eyebrow only confirmed that. "Should I call for a servant?" That seemed to be breaking point.

"It's not every day that we have a guest here, is it?" It was the first time Isabelle said it that way, "we".

Suddenly, it was easier to breathe.

"No, it's not." It didn't take long for Josephine to explain her aloofness from the locals. "You see, they ask for my help when it comes to their aches, wounds, and many other things. But someone like me is always on the margins. I'm a lone woman on the far edge of the village doing God only knows what out of their sight, and even worse: without a man."

"You would have to be very careful around superstitious folk." Isabelle exclaimed and Josephine giggled. It was obvious to him that the women had formed a bond which allowed them to tease.

"A lot of us would." Unable to help it, he knew immediately he will regret saying that.

His hostess became curious. It was about his face again, she was almost sure. She spoke a little under her voice as the girl stood up to slice more bread. "What happened to you? Has it always been like that?"

Even though Isabelle could hear them perfectly, it was supposed to be a moment of pretended privacy and she took her time.

He leaned back into his chair, shifting and trying to think of something to say. He had never talked about his face. Not the truth. Only once did he tell Madame of whatever it was that he believed about it. And then there was Christine and that desperate confession about his mother's «fear and loathing», shouting it out and pleading her to understand. It still put him to shame. What did it matter now? He had little pride left, having been robbed of it.

"Yes. Most of it, as far as I can remember. I can't really recall anything that would prove otherwise."

The way she examined him in one look, before picking another bite from her plate as though he were just like any other regular guest, she remarked: "It looks like scar tissue, gone wrong. Well, some of it."

So a permission to lie about it._ Say it's scars. Who cares?_

With that, she closed the awkward subject. It was in her nature to try to look at the brighter side of life, even if it came to dark humor, so she winked to the girl: "Then again, from what I've heard, at times the red hair was just enough to mean trouble."

The redhead couldn't keep it: "It's a good thing we are not in the very village then, who knows what would have happened, should they see us together."

"So where did you say you were going to?" Josephine turned to Erik.

"North. North - West. Towards Rouen. Mostly back to the Seine."

"You walked all the way up to here?"

_I walk in circles. No wonder, really.  
><em>"Yes. Well, catching a ride some times. Or work. It seems that the railroad is being fixed on a few locations..."

But Isabelle hadn't been listening to the rest, now turning serious: "Rouen?" The call within her was digging it's way out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Remnants**

Drifting into sleep was rarely easy. She never knew what the night might bring.

With years she had gotten used to it and eventually the bad nights seemed to be coming much less frequently, from time to time she would even forget about it, wishing to erase the remnants of ever having them. But the anxious feeling always remained and it was only a matter of time and circumstances or some random little trigger.

This night she was defenseless again. A storm raging through her head and chest, her whole being. She fought. She cried. She tried to scream so intensely but no one could hear her cry because there was nothing to be heard except for silent squeaking sounds of air passing through her aching burning throat. She was still shaken up as the sudden sensation of loosing the ground under her feet woke her up.

The very moment she opened her eyes she closed them again. Curled up, not wanting to look, wrapping her arms around her knees and pressing her forehead onto them. No, she didn't want to open her eyes. Not then and not now. Roughly and forcefully, she rubbed the skin on the side of her neck, trying to wipe the unwanted sensation off, knowing it was just a cruel trick of her mind, she nearly scraped until the burning feeling finally replaced it.

The dreadful feeling that there was someone else in the room still remained. Suffocating her sobs, her throat clenched. She hoped desperately that no one could hear her tonight. The humiliation... She tried to comfort herself, rationalizing about nature taking care of this things, not allowing the scream come to life when one is still dreaming, that the body knows how to differ a sleeping mind. But logic often failed.

She stayed that way for a long time, trembling and rocking back and forth in an even rhythm.

A sudden noise stirred her, some rattle coming from the outside. Something was wrong. There was no choice now, she had to keep herself together and take a look. No one was there inside her dark little room. Through the window she saw a shadow running across the yard.

It was only a fox. What a relief.

As she stood up to pick the covers from the ground, the hot fluid rushed down between her thighs. For a moment she was overflown with panic. _No, it can't be!_

As she turned back to sit down onto the cot, she realized. There was no need to lit the candle as the moonlight revealed that the dark stain on the sheet was her own blood. Quite too early, this time. Trying to ignore some aberrant sensation, she focused on the urge to get cold water and soak the linen while the stain was still fresh.

Cold water washes away the blood, cold water numbs the sensation. She had learned that very well. She'd love to immerse into it completely.

* * *

><p>An irritating hoarse sound of an old rooster's crowing pierced his ears for the third time this morning. The grumpy messy man appeared on an attic window locating the damned bird, swearing he would personally make sure that the thing does not see another dawn!<p>

What he missed about his lair, his _home_, was undisturbed silence deep underground, peace and the even the constant temperature regardless to the time of the year. The combination could create an illusion that the time stopped running in that isolated place. In some way it had.

At least for him the world had been the same for years and when he'd rise up to the surface, he would encounter the continuous changes all around. A new interior inside the Opera house, a growing building somewhere near, a different production, some new composer, an unknown member in the dance troops.  
>A new wrinkle around Madame's always vigilant eyes.<br>A surprising improvement in the musical skills of his protégé, a new, ever more womanly change in her dressing, her curls, her eyes, her thoughts, as she turned into a young woman. She had matured right there in front of his eyes, if not before then certainly after the madness he had put her through. But had _he_?

His own little world had been remaining intact for a long time, ever since he had closed himself into that dungeon giving up on people, like a defeated dog with a tail drawn between his legs. A part of him refused to evolve, hoping that nothing would ever disturb the world he had created for himself.  
>In the end, he had wrecked it himself.<p>

And now he was in exile.

Slowly he realized that his skin is covered with a layer of sweat and he must have taken his shirt off during the night even though he could swear that it had been rather cold outside. The ring was still on the tip of his little finger and now he knew. It was Christine who kept him burning alive, even though all he could recall were disconnected pieces of a story.

_How I miss you... You will never really know, will you?_

In reality he had let her go, but his mind kept calling her back, making it that much harder to leave that part of his life behind. It was a powerful stream which kept holding him back when something else kept pulling him forward. Now, he was fighting just to keep his head above the water. This little house behind God's back was something like a floating tree trunk for a drowning man to cling on and rest for a while.

Closing his hand around the ring, he leaned his stubborn head hard into the wall. _I have let you leave, won't you do the same?_

* * *

><p>She was awake for hours already, listening to the murmur of the rain till it ceased, then ventured out as if given permission to do it with the first sun ray. It had been raining quite frequently for the past week. Thinking over and over again, she remembered what had kept her awake last night. <em>Rouen<em>.

Josephine was kind to her for these past months, ever since she appeared on her doorway in the middle of winter.

This was a good place to be, a transitional place where she could wait. As long as it takes.

For numerous times Isabelle was settled to leave. Every time Josephine managed to talk her out of it with various excuses. She would eventually give in, knowing that deep inside she was not ready. It just hasn't been the right time. But in the end, who can tell how much time one really needs?

Time kept running and nothing changed. Only now the things have changed.

Something fluttered behind the woodshed but she couldn't figure out where the noise is coming from. Examining the piles of firewood, she blamed it on mice but just when she was about to leave, she noticed two shiny dots staring at her.  
>A bird, taken down by last night's wind and downpour. Reaching out, she held back at the first stir as the little creature pulled back in fear, jumping to the other pile with a flutter of wet feathers. It wasn't injured, just soaked and scared to the bones.<p>

She knew what it was like, to be helpless and terrified, when even a hand that has good intentions represents a threat.

"You're not ready yet, are you?"

He had to land down in order of getting what he wants. Down there was _her_ territory. And it seemed like she couldn't care less about him. The other one, who did act like she cared, was nowhere to be seen. And then he heard her say that. Not to him, her back was turned to him.

He pressed the haft to get the water from the well. A loud squeak of old metal was followed by a splash of water.

It only became clear that he may have frightened her, when she turned around with a start and whipped him with her wide eyes. He never lost the unconscious habit of wandering around silently. It had always served him well to keep his presence unknown to others.

"I didn't mean to..."

She softened her tense posture as he looked a little guilty. "Did you want something?"

"Just... water."

And so she let him have it.

He splashed some on his face. As he drank, something fluttered behind him again. He thought for a moment.  
>"You were talking to Josephine?" He cast a glance to the woodshed, hoping that the woman is near.<p>

Perhaps it was time for the two of them to deal with the absence of that woman as an intermediary and try to act... _normal_.  
>His social skills were lacking when it came to putting theory into practice and he knew it. He rarely spoke to other people, having been too busy avoiding them.<p>

Always isolated, it was hard to speak out now. Speaking through music, barely ever communicating with words, he had been trying to reach out, yet never to expose himself.

Simple conversation as a tremendous step, made an exercise of normalcy.

"No, I haven't seen her this morning."

The silence felt weird and he had to break it: "She was pretty worried about you yesterday."

"There was no reason to be worried." She walked over to the log, finding some crumbs in her pocket and leaving them for the birds.

He kept something inside for quite some time, that darn feeling that he is intruding. It had to come out, doing his best not to sound arrogant as he tried to say it politely. "Are you angry at me, _mademoiselle_?"

It was unexpected and she gave him one of those inquisitive looks. "Why?"

"For staying here." Then he added: "I will leave soon."

She shook her head, suddenly realizing that he has done nothing wrong. She had no true reason to resent him. And apparently she knew something that he didn't:

"You will leave when it is your time to leave."

Her words had a peculiar undertone, like some old saying or maybe a riddle which he could not remember at the moment, for his mind was thoroughly confused.

Another flapping of the wings was followed by a squeak a little further. The idea that she was talking to the empty air was awkward. She spoke. "It's just a blackbird."

Still fumbling around the haft, locating the troublesome corroded crank, he muttered: "Then it won't give up the secrets."

That poked her a little. _Whose, yours or mine?_ "Why do you say so?"

"So I've read it somewhere. The belief extends to all birds of black plumage."

"I thought you were speaking from experience." She did that on purpose. Just to get back and give him something to think about.

"I had a crow once." And he didn't know why it should matter right now, feeling like an idiot. But this was the longest and most resembling thing to conversation that they've had thus far. And as a recluse he had never known how to approach people, especially a woman.

He still remembered finding that crow, a victim of a raging mob of insupportable brats. That was the main reason why he had saved it, something he had never done with a human being. An intelligent little creature which quickly learned how to get what she wanted.  
>It was one of those good memories from his lifetime of a ghost. What he had never known before was that they could be taught how to repeat words when in captivity. They also remembered faces very well and... His own was not easy to forget, was it? The creature didn't mind.<br>And a man needs to hear his own name spoken out every now and then. Just to remember that he has one, that he is human. How pathetic it seemed. He smirked thinking of it now, long after having released it, he could imagine the damned thing screaming his name somewhere in Paris, evoking a ghost.

That little devil would never settle at the same level with humanity. They shared that affinity. Always out of reach, whether it was into the deep cellars or giddy heights of the rafters. Even now, his domain was an attic. A better perspective and a good choice for keeping at distance.

Isabelle's voice woke him from his thoughts. "Did you name it?"

She caught his gaze and noticed that it was probably the first time that she saw him from up close outside in the broad daylight, and not within the house. His scars seemed different now, without the shadows falling on him. She took them in for a moment but she wouldn't dare to stare.

He knew what she was looking at. He knew the sight from the mirrors down there in that darkness. When was the last time that he saw it in the light of the day?

"_Nevermore._" The way he said it was serious, looking straight at her, expecting a reaction.

She smiled a little. It was good. He could almost swear that a laugh might escape her but she looked away before she spoke again, like something just came to her mind:

"Wouldn't that be more suiting for a raven, _monsieur_?"

It was an odd realization. Neither of the two managed to fit into the pattern, little signs gave away the fact that they don't really belong there.

He pointed at the little creature with his gaze as it rose into the air. "It escaped you."

"No, it didn't. It is exactly where it belongs. I hate to see them captured."

Then she left him alone out there with his musings, turning reticent again.

* * *

><p>Watching her own reflection in the water, the dark circles under her eyes still gave out that there has not been much sleep for her last night. She opened her palm and touched the surface, the stillness was gone now, the face inside changed it's shape with the oscillation. How she liked to play this way as a child, stirring the waves, sinking various items, finding out what could float and what was doomed to go down... Often saving the tiny creatures that would have fallen in and watching them dry under the sun, grasping for the tiny string that meant life.<p>

She needed to work on something. Never having been able to understand women who would lay in their rooms and moan every month, she learned to follow her own instinct to move, to do something, anything that would keep her from feeling weak and helpless during those days.  
>As long as there was something to do, she didn't have to listen to that woman's silly ideas. The dull pain in her belly was milding down. She washed the sheets that have been left soaking in the bucket at night, then passed on to all of her garments, then Josephine's as well, until there was nothing else left. Then she saw a pile of man's clothes that Josephine must have brought down for washing.<p>

He was Josephine's guest. Not hers. It was not her job to take care of something that woman was supposed to do, it made her slightly angry. Still, it didn't feel right to just leave it there. Seeing no proper reason why she should care, she pulled one of his shirts anyway.  
>She couldn't remember if she had ever been washing a man's shirt before. She never expected to find herself in a situation like this. Not ever.<br>It felt different beneath her fingers, worn out linen, he must have been wearing this one quite often. It smelled different as well, like a... _man_.

She wouldn't call it stench but rather the smell of his skin blending with sweat that has already aired out. She was not disturbed by that, although she might have expected it. The disconcert didn't come from the cause that her senses could feel it, but from the fact that they cared to make her aware of it. Rubbing the suds into the fabric, it was soon replaced by the scent of lavender and other herbs which Josephine had mixed into the soap.  
>It was much larger than her own shirts and it took her more time to get all that dust out. Some time later, the entire pile was gone.<p>

As she twisted the garments, draining as much as possible, it felt like squeezing the remaining bad feelings and replacing them with weariness. And how tired she was of all kept within...

She ran her hand through the water once more and stared at it. The soft skin turned red, the tips of her fingers wrinkled and tactile sensation numbed down from all the washing. _And it was only last night that you wanted to peel your own skin off..._

* * *

><p>The Sun had more mercy today but the bright light still forced him to rest his eyes and his body. His mind wouldn't rest. Especially when in such an unusual place... Not that there was anything out of the ordinary, even places seemed to have secrets of their own, just like people. Today he has found something. A handmade flute, quite simple, more like a fife. It just turned up out of nowhere, layers of dust witnessed it having been hidden up there behind a joist for a very long time.<p>

And he recalled music, once upon a time he couldn't have imagined a life without it. Now he couldn't even bring himself to try out how that little instrument sounds. He couldn't play, perhaps it was just too early for him. But it felt as though Fate was playing tricks on him, teasing on purpose.

_Strange place, strange people..._

He hadn't even realized that he kept watching down occasionally. She was hanging the laundry on the old ropes tied by the tree on one side while the other end had an improvised rack attached to the wall as a support. She was careful to place the undergarments between the sheets so they wouldn't be left exposed to anyone's straight sight. Shirts hung by shirts, white by white, brown by brown, green by green. Everything had it's place that fit into her idea of order.

For a change, he wondered how _she _came to be here. She didn't seem to be a peasant girl, not by far! But appeared to be just as skilled with physical labor as with the fine manners. Fragile Parisienne ladies would never expose their frail little hands to such rough manipulations. No one would expect it from them, there were ladies and there were working girls. Even Christine would have been ensured to have someone to do this kind of work for her... But no! If only one day could pass without thinking of her! He would have given her the world. If only she'd have accepted it_. Is she his Vicomtesse already? _

The thought of her married to another pained him, but the knowledge that she was being touched at night by another man kicked the air out of his lungs with uttermost wrath. Though it was done, he still resented her for leaving, angry at her, mad with himself. He slammed his fist against the board at the mere thought of it and the pain kicked right back in pulsating waves. _She hurts me even now... _


	4. Chapter 4

**Caught in the moment**

Tired of Josephine's prying and questioning about that dream that haunted her, the one she never should have mentioned, Isabelle stepped outside in search for a little tranquility. _Rouen._ _Always the same._  
>It didn't matter, she no longer had a place she could call a home without reservation.<br>Here was fine.

Sometimes she felt like hiding away for a while, just to be alone. It would be all she needed.

She flinched around the corner to the place where she could usually sit down undisturbed, none of those few windows looked directly to that side.

She was not the only one out there looking for a moment of peace. She found _him_ leaning on the fence, staring into the distance. The very same empty road that led him to the house was now stretching far in front of him, across the glade.

It was more than enough already having a stranger around, now he simply took _her_ _place_ to his liking.

_I have been here long before you. _It was just a defiant thought as she crept behind and sat on the log just a few meters behind him. She would not back away.

He was lost in thoughts, unaware of her presence. It crossed her mind that something must have affected him very much, as he didn't pay much attention to anything that was going on around him. Every now and then he'd look down at his clenched fist.  
>Even from behind, it seemed that his tense shoulders were burdened with sorrow.<br>She couldn't tell for how long it lasted but slowly she began relaxing regardless of him being there.

He turned around, with his gaze absently lowered to the ground and when realizing that he has not been alone after all, looked up. His eyes didn't open wide, he didn't look startled, he stayed calm but though he tried to hide his surprise, it was there anyway and she noticed that. It felt like a satisfactory little payoff for the way he startled her the day before, even though unintentionally._  
><em>Never behind her back! _Well, now you know what it's like. _

She said nothing.

He said nothing.

There was something small in his hand which slid down to put the item into his pocket. Now it also felt like she has been invading his moment of peace. Secretly, she all but wished she didn't. If he looked woeful just a few moments earlier, now he seemed simply lost, or perhaps even caught in something unspeakable.

She had to say something, anything_._ "It is nice out here, isn't it?"

He nodded. From the first day forward she had noticed that the man didn't speak much.

Then he spoke. "Picturesque."

No, he didn't talk much but he chose his words expertly well. She believed that it might just as well be all that would come from him for the time being, perhaps even for the rest of the day, all up until dinner. It wouldn't be that unusual.

Her reflections were almost proven right. And yet, they had to be dismissed as if they came too rashly. He said something, after all.

"You are not from here." It was not a question, only a statement. _You don't belong here._

Now he knew, he figured it out. What could she say?  
>"No, I'm not." She paused for a second. "But I like it here."<br>That little she gave away and it seemed to satisfy his curiosity, he asked nothing more.

* * *

><p>"The two of you seem to be getting along just fine." Josephine just knew the way to poke her.<p>

"We have barely spoken a few words." She kept kneading dough for the bread, indifferent to the woman's attempts to talk about the particular matter.

"Mhm." As though it all came to words. The elder woman knew better. "Yesterday morning, and now again."

Isabelle was grateful for the fact that the man was not present and wouldn't listen to this. "You are the one who let him stay. Who _made_ him stay, in fact. I can't pretend that he is not here."

"Right. Have you been up there yet?" Josephine lifted her brow up high, pointing to the rooftop.

"Where? The attic? Of course not."

"He made himself a... I don't know how to call it. A nest. A small one but comfortably settled at one place... You should take a peek."

She tossed the dough roughly onto the table: "You are insane. What if he caught you prying through his things?"  
>It didn't feel like a rebuke suddenly, but almost as if she was defending the man's privacy. It was not her intention.<br>How did she ever come to this? Perhaps she could identify with a person who only sought for a little space where he could be undisturbed, without anyone invading in. Not that he granted them with descending on the solid ground very often, anyway. _You are a strange man, stranger. _

"How could he possibly? The two of you were outside chatting." The merry tone of her words made it sound like they spent every single day in small talk.

The girl didn't feel like replying to the silly comment. It didn't make sense and it would probably be in vain. She took it out by putting all her energy into kneading, quite vigorously, a tress of her hair fell loose down her cheek and she brushed it aside with the back of her hand.  
>If only she could allow herself to unfasten a button or two on her dress, it would be easier to stand the heat.<br>Heat from the sun, heat from the stove, heat rising within her along with dedication to her work...

With a man in the house, she had to compromise even about making herself comfortable. Not that he would descend from up there anytime soon...  
>With that thought she succumbed to the temptation and unfastened the top button, happy to feel the air graze the skin under her collarbones.<br>Another one went a little loose as well, all by itself. She didn't bother to fix it with fingers all covered in flour.  
>But <em>he<em> better not come stealthily behind her back this time!

* * *

><p>Every day spent under the roof top, he kept contemplating. How did the fearful Phantom, so manipulative and obsessed with precision and control, manage to make so many mistakes that led to such destruction? And how does one ruin of a roof make a repayment for the great hall of the Opera house?<br>Does it? Never.  
>A ruin. Just as his world, collapsed under the weight of his sins.<p>

There were too many lives that he had afflicted. From his point of view it looked like he was condemned to always be reminded of his deeds, with every little thing that would have enough power to bring his thoughts back to that disaster.  
>Oblivion was not to be expected. Not ever.<br>He didn't deserve it. A whole new theatre wouldn't compensate for what he'd destroyed. He could never recreate the entire little world it had made. It could not make amends for all the lives he had altered.

In that endless second, when Christine ripped his mask off in front of the overloaded auditorium...

It might as well have been his own head falling down with it.

He was not even angry at that moment. No, all the fury came later as the screams and gasps of shock and execration jerked him out of his numbness.  
>But for that one infinite moment!<br>He was just overflown with disappointment, staring at his deceptive little Delilah with a rueful look. She had bared him in front of the world, she might have just as well stripped him naked, it would have hurt less.

He hadn't thought much at that moment, exposed and vulnerable, a living target he knew he'd been from the very beginning, yet willing to come onto that stage and fulfill his plan even if it meant sealing his fate. Ruled by instinct, he grabbed to take her with him and acted along with the first thought that came to his deluded mind.  
>One rope he did cut but the other one... <em>Damn it!<em>  
>The chandelier was supposed to fall onto the stage and block the trap door once they were gone. <em>Everything went wrong... <em>

His forehead thumped against the beam, accidentally this time, but no matter how many times he might repeat that particular motion, none of his troubles could be kicked out of his mind. Even if he'd lose the memory of his own identity, there would still be something to remind him of what he'd done.

"Easy with that one. I don't think _that_ piece of wood could be nailed back together so easily."

It was that busybody woman again. And by the «piece of wood» she meant his head.

Josephine looked around, curiously glancing at the spot where he had settled his place to rest. He managed with the little he had. A wall on one side, an old case he has moved to the other. The cloak which he carried rolled up on the bottom of his sack inspite of the summer heat, was at last put to use. He has draped it between the opposite sides to keep himself an illusion of privacy, it was almost like a small room. A sack as a pillow and the plaid given to him served as a cot.

A few personal items which he kept around, marked the hideaway as _his_.

She had seen all that before but still, his need to stay closed away when alone in the house with two women was a little odd. Immediately, she changed the center of her attention to the roof. "You're progressing fast. And you're good at your work."

"I do my best, madame. It will take another few days."

"Take as much time as you need." She sounded very approvingly, as though she'd downright let him renovate the entire house.

He thought she might leave him at peace but as she moved away, the woman stopped again . "You always travel alone? Never work with companions?"

"Only me. Why?"

"I was just curious. You said you were on the way back to your birthplace. All by yourself. No woman, you have no family of your own?"

"Does it seriously _look_ like I've got one?!"  
>He was a little too rash with that one. Again, he needed to explain, always explain! Sometimes he felt like the world expected him to explain and apologize for his very existence. He cooled down instantly but the arrogant undertone remained, more like in self reproaching:<p>

"They don't exactly run after me, madame." _Can't you tell that they run in the opposite direction?_

She shrugged her shoulders. "You're skilled. Crafty handed."  
>It sounded like a reason enough for her.<p>

Like it could ever compensate for the abomination of his face.

Damn it, he had anticipated people to stay away! They were expected to wince and abhor at the sight of him just like they had when he had been a mere child, just like they had at the night of his «Don Juan Triumphant». A Devil´s child... A Devil himself.

And what did he get? It seemed like they had gotten tired of it, like they've been fed up with abhorrence and simply sought a different sort of entertainment, someone or something less menacing. They had maimed him and then moved on leaving him crushed on the road.

And now... Only _now_ did he get to meet kind people?! Now, after all the harm that had been done?

This was not even close to a punishment.

Then he remembered something else, proficiently skipping to another subject. He was getting better at this.  
>"It looks like someone else was crafty handed. I found this up here."<br>He took something from behind a beam and gave it to her.

She looked at the object, not ready to believe it. Then she all but grabbed it and examined it minutely.

A flute.

Something about that woman changed and he didn't dare to ask a single word about it. She only thanked him.

He was left alone.

* * *

><p>The bread hadn't turned out this good for quite some time. Isabelle was pleased.<p>

So were the hostess and her guest. The latter one she caught eyeing the slice that remained in the little woven basket. She found it funny how people always seem to be reluctant about the last piece when in company of others. Especially when there was more than enough waiting to be served.

Josephine seemed to be absent in her mind for most of the day but suddenly her full attention came back and she didn't hesitate in speaking out.  
>"For Heaven's sake, take it, no one will hold it against you." Then she took it herself as Isabelle turned to fetch some more.<p>

"There are people, _madame_, who would go to extreme measures over a missing crust of bread. Many had payed dearly for having long fingers. With their freedom." Dramatizing, he sounded only half-serious, already used to unavoidable conversation at the table. Darn courtesy.

Slicing the bountiful loaf, the girl offered some more to Erik. "True. Some men's greatest trouble began with a simple loaf of bread."

He took a slice still warm and moist underneath his fingertips, noticing her eyes upon his for a brief instant but she was not aiming her words at him. She seemed rather amused as she went on: "But I just don't see the sense in punishing one driven by despair, so gravely, if no harm was truly meant."

"Not to mention, that he'd quite likely turn into a man far more corrupted than before. Yet, the same _misérable_ he has always been. Predestined to misery." He used that term on purpose, almost certain that she meant the same.

Isabelle thought for a moment before speaking again. "Or maybe, though rarely, a _better_ man? Yet, a man haunted by one thing that marked his past which would cling to him no matter how hard he tried to escape it? Even if it hadn't seemed such a foul decision, but in the eyes of the law it was a crime nevertheless?"

She might just as well be talking about him, for that matter. He dipped a bit of bread into the sauce at the realization that he was right.  
>"Do you read a lot, <em>mademoiselle<em>?"

She glanced at him, catching that glimpse which he couldn't hold back when he'd suppress a grin. She didn't have to confirm, it was pretty clear.

Josephine stepped in, addressing to him. "Don't tell me that you too are a bookworm."  
>She was glad to see them talk. She didn't like the feeling of not having a clue what it was really all about, even though she herself could remember some other bad times which they've just described.<br>"My... If you two were my children, I'd be bragging around how good with your hands both of you are! And here, it turns out how you prefer sticking your noses in books."

_Her children. Ha! Crazy woman, don't you know?_ He had a mother, sure, like any other living creature out there, but she had never been a true mother to him. For most of his life he considered himself to be nobody's. A degenerate spawn just as they had called him.

The girl looked at him compassionately, perhaps because they were in this together.

Taking another slice for herself, Josephine felt the silence as those two suddenly didn't know what to say. "Dear, you have surpassed me this time. What have you put in this?"

Isabelle's secretive smile came back, the one she thought to have had lost and which has been found again only when she had come into Josephine's home. "Well, wouldn't you like to know?"

* * *

><p>Later, finishing the work in the kitchen, she heard the murmur of Josephine and the stranger conversating outside. Well, more like she was talking and he just added something every now and then.<br>He retrieved to the attic soon, as usual, passing through the small house with those long strides.  
>The mistress of the house came behind her, helping her to tidy up the dishes, calculating something along the way. She could almost sense that the woman was up to something.<p>

"Hmmm... It is a real piece of work to get more than a few words out of him some times."

"I see it must be quite a challenge for you, Josephine." She knew that it must be something entirely new for the woman. This time, her target was sufficiently resistant, that man so stingy with words!

"Mhm. You seem to have found an easier way in making him open his mouth."

"Don't be silly."

"You do. Besides, he just happens to be passing by Rouen, which would be the same direction you are heading."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It might be your chance to get there. _Safe_. Without me going mad from worry. We could have some use from him."

Isabelle turned away heading out the door, this was too much. "You are insane!"

"Maybe. And what if I told you that you should trust me?" The woman's voice followed her on the way out: "Think about it."

* * *

><p>Hearing the sound of the wood cracking, he returned his gaze to the yard. He had seen a lot of things in his life but he just couldn't remember, at the given moment at least, ever having seen a girl chopping wood. Surely he has, but... At least not a gracile creature like this one and certainly not so frantically.<br>If he had ever doubted whether Judite would have been able to behead Holofernes, there was no doubt left in him any more.  
>He only wondered whose head it was that she imagined to be on that stump.<p>

Rushing down, he found Josephine in his way.

"I should go and help her."

"No!" She stopped him. "At least that is not the kind of help she needs right now. Leave her be."

She was thinking hard. "I need to talk to you. That is, if you are willing to help as you just said."

He was confused. She practically ordered him to sit down as she began talking and pacing around.  
>"For the time that I've known her I've been doing my best to keep her from leaving. She is restless. With unresolved matters waiting. She needs to get to her family. And I will not let her go alone, I don't want to carry her on my conscience."<p>

There was no sense in the story and he would never even think of what was to come next: "And then you come along with your story and it _just happens_ that the two of you might share a good part of the tour." She noticed that abashed expression as he wondered which one between the two of them was actually the crazy one.

"Don't look at me that way! I know you hide something just as well. It may be an unthinkable thing coming from me but... If only you would be willing to escort her a long the way, it would make things so much... easier."

Whether to laugh out loud or to cut it off, he didn't know what to do. "There is a perfectly convenient solution. It is called a train ticket."

She realized that perhaps there is not as much patience within her as she had originally believed.  
>"Sure. Don't play smart. Perhaps you've noticed already, she'd walk away all by herself rather than take the little money I could give her. Besides, there would still be the matter of getting to the nearest train station, and as you've said it yourself, the railroad is being fixed half of the time."<p>

"Madame, do you know what happens to the girls left alone with suspicious men?"

Still standing, she leaned on the table with an attitude that screamed that this is her territory. "I know it very well. Don't you even _dare_ to go there. It is exactly what I am trying to prevent."

"Then why won't you accompany her personally?"

"Because I can't leave this place!" All but shouting out, it was all she had to say about it. Never mind that matter of her own. "And it would not be nearly the same. Someone like yourself should be a challenge."  
>Looking out through the window, she murmured: "She's a clever one, don't doubt it. She can make it on her own... It's just that she shouldn't. Not this time. If she goes away all by herself, it will be like she has made no move. No move at all, really."<p>

Observing him for days now, she had a hunch. But she had to be sure. "You wouldn't hurt her, would you?"

That confused look of his was mixing with frustration. She made it more clear. "You know what I mean."

He pushed the words out slowly and deadly serious: "I_ couldn't_, madame_._"

_You couldn't..._ She shrugged her shoulders stopping for a moment. "I am willing to repay you, you know... Just take her home, nothing more. Think about it."

Children, both him and the girl. So much mistrust in them. It shouldn't be so, she decided.


	5. Chapter 5

**Under pressure**

What answer could he give except «No»? The last thing he needed was to get into a trouble quite beyond his imagination. Maybe he should have just said it out loud, he had killed, he had done a lot of wrong to the innocent... And a young woman shouldn't even be seen in a company of a man like himself. _Am I really the reasonable one here?_ He was slamming the hammer against the nails in all his anger. _Get out of here as soon as possible..._ _But no, few days and you're already getting comfortable, enjoying a nice dinner and a warm place to sleep! You can't make your past dissappear but your past could make you dissappear when you least expect it. _

Looking down, he could see Isabelle in the shade of an apple tree.

He couldn't remember the last time he had failed in handling a knife.

As he stabbed it between the two panels, trying to separate them, his hand slipped past the stem and slid straight onto the blade.

It was one of those moments when one is granted with a sight of the inevitable, incapable to react in time: his own skin being sliced on the cutting edge.

Able only to watch the destruction as though it were some stranger's flesh in that one agonizingly long moment.

The blood and the razor sharp pain came in a moment which followed after, as the knife fell to the ground and the man remained standing there, only staring at first.

* * *

><p>A voice from behind shook her. "You two fools! Both of you are just as stubborn! All in all you might even deserve each other's company." The woman was deliberately provoking and at the same time looked up towards the roof. He wasn't anywhere in the sight.<p>

"You asked him? I can not believe this... At least you could have waited long enough to hear what I've got to say!" The girl was unpleasantly surprised with Josephine's impertinence. "You know him for a couple of days! For heaven's sake, you don't know him, he might be an outlaw and yet you keep on playing with him."

"Oh, just think about it! What else did you have in mind, all by yourself and with those few francs in your pocket?"

As Isabelle turned to get away, she caught a glimpse of the man on the attic. He must have heard it all. He didn't look angry at all but rather interested, the fact that he stopped working and watched them arguing down there made him seem even amused. And she enjoyed the fact that Josephine couldn't see him right now, no matter how childish it might be. Now that he knew what the woman was up to, she was thankful that he didn't say a single word. Not a tell-tale sign from him.

For all she cared at the given moment, he could have all the fun of watching from up there. That is, as long he was not taking a side. Somehow just as they were pawns in someone's game, they seemed to be on the same side.

* * *

><p>Carrying water for him, she finally came up. It was the least she could do after yesterday, and especially after what Josephine was doing to the man now. He heard the steps but was surprised to see her and not the elder woman.<p>

It felt unpleasant to just stand there and watch him satisfy his thirst. The whole attic was a maze of timbering and tools, expect for one corner. There was a pair of neatly settled shoes, dusty and ankle-high, witnessing of kilometers left behind, waiting for the master who worked barefoot for whatsoever reason. How odd to do so, really.

She saw the blood on a sleeve rolled up to his elbow. He has wiped the cut with it. "Are you hurt?"

There was an absent look in his eyes. _You can't even imagine. This is just a drop in the ocean._ He looked at his hand again and muttered: "It has dried already, nothing serious." Though it has not, and the sweat and dust burned like hell.

"For heaven's sake, you should at least wash it out. Wait here."

She went away before he could protest and all he could hear was the sound of a cabinet being opened somewhere below. When she returned, there was a cup in her hand. He was surprised to see that it wasn't water that she brought. What are the chances that there is actually tea in that cup, he calculated.

"May I guess?" It seemed almost ridiculous that he was always given the same treatment. As long as it worked, he was fine with it.

It was easier once they'd break the ice. "Of course. Next time when you hurt yourself, come down and you'll get to choose your favourite: chamomile, plantain, sage, yarrow..."

"That might raise the dead from the grave."

"You're far from a dead man."

"Some may not share your opinion, _mademoiselle_." As far as Parisian gendarmerie was concerned, he was probably just close enough. Not that he would grant them with an opportunity.

He noticed that questioning look and decided to give her some clue. "You don't know what it's like, but I've seen people cross themselves sometimes as they'd see me passing by."

"What makes you so sure that I don't?" Perhaps she shouldn't have said that, not in such an absurd way. A faint smile tried to cover it up as it was nothing too serious. She pulled a clean kerchief out of her apron, pointing at the cup. "It's Josephine's salve. Here, you should cleanse the cut with this." There was a small pause.  
><em>White flag, how befitting.<em> "It is a peace offer as well."

The latter just came out of her unplanned. She had to go through with it now. "I didn't mean all that I've said earlier."

Sitting on a pile of boards, elbows on his thighs, he soaked the fabric and wiped the laceration.

She opened a small jar full of something thick and golden in colour.

"Is that..."

"Honey." She was faster than him. "It helps healing. You work a lot with your hands, it will protect the injured tissue."

Her finger dipped in and she slowly brought it closer to his hand, uncertain.

"I didn't know that."

"Sometimes a solution is quite simple."

Not a single movement came from him for the longest second and then, realizing the reason, he let her bring the least expected remedy. The tip of her finger grazed over the cut on his palm, beneath the hill of his thumb, stretching almost to the wrist.

It was the very first touch they have shared.

Skin on skin, and precisely one of the most sensitive parts of the same. Ordinary people shook their hands never caring too much about such a trivial thing, just the simple everyday contact. He hadn't been touched much in his life, not in a tender way at least.

She remained calm, apart from that little motion. Looking at the same spot, he was completely unmoving.

The dense substance refused to be broken apart easily and a thin golden string persisted between the two for the shortest while shining under the sunlight, almost alive.

Then it tore apart and the olutlandish feeling dissolved with it.

"Perhaps you should pause from work for today. Ask for something more effective when Josephine comes back."

He was confounded, work was the one thing that he was supposed to do while staying here. What else was there for him? "What am I supposed to do then?"

It sounded so simple, only one word: "Heal."

Such a simple instruction. If only it could be that easy to follow it. He was afraid that he might be far too damaged to heal.

Once again changing the subject, she needed to clear out the significance of the words he must have overheard her say to Josephine. "I wasn't aiming that comment from earlier towards you."

He looked at her strangely. "You were right. I might as well be a bad man hiding under your roof."

"It is not mine." She stated that so calmly like it didn't matter if he was the Devil himself because it simply wasn't her house. "I am sorry, it just happens that she gets the strangest ideas sometimes, intervening with what is not on her to solve, and now she has dragged you into this. Do not feel beholden to fulfill all of her demands."

She turned to leave when he spoke hesitatingly: "Isabelle... What if I really was an outlaw?"

She shook her head unapprovingly, but remained calm. Almost too calm. There was still some honey on her finger and she tried to wipe it off. "I guess that she would use you in every way she could think of. In some way, like she's doing it now."

"And you?"

She thought for a second. "I have just given you a peace offer a few moments ago. Don't make me regret it. I tend to keep my promises." He was left to his own reflections, as she descended the ladder.

Once out of sight, she tried to wipe the remaining honey, yet a sticky smear lingered persistently on her fingertip. Absently, she brought it between her lips, to the tip of her tongue.

It was sweet.

* * *

><p>The more he thought about this strange days, the more he caught himself speculating about Josephine's idea. He was tired of everything. Maybe he could turn this charade into his own benefit. It might make him look less suspicious, ridiculous as it may seem. Starting conversation, catching a ride, finding a place to stay overnight... Perhaps, it just might actually be easier with a woman by his side.<p>

Another disguise.

An ironic and unexpected turn, but it might work. Surely no one would assume that the dreadful Phantom travels by broad daylight and in a female company nonetheless! As long as she played her role. No games. One more thing was certain: if that prying witch ever came to her senses, she wouldn't send a raging mob, gendarmerie or anything that serves the same purpose out here in his direction as long as he had her little friend with him. The idea started digging it's way into his brain almost against his own will.  
>One fact was indisputable: It was a complete insanity!<p>

_I will accept only if she agrees. It is a matter of her own will. And I will most likely regret this._

Josephine made broth. Nobody would act fancy with knives and forks tonight. Secretly, he was glad because the coagulum tore a little and the salve which Josephine gave him a while earlier was now pinching underneath.

"See, this is typical male stubbornness, he would've kept quiet about this until it was too late for a simple treatment."

He cleared his throat. So many times he just wanted to be «typical» but certainly not in this context.

Isabelle wanted to cut her off with some comment about prying too much but decided to keep it for herself instead, she just briefly looked at the man with compassion. He understood. They were not too eager to chat tonight. It has been a long day.

"I should be done with the roof soon so you won't have to worry for much longer. If I chop something off, I'll let you know instantly. Otherwise, I should be gone soon."

Josephine was blatantly working on prolonging of his stay. "You know, I should have that fence fixed too, if you're willing to spare a day or few."

"I don't know, I am dragging along for too much time already."

"Don't think for too long. People are prone of making wrong decisions when they think too much just as well as when they don't think at all." _Fools, both of you._ She was annoyed by the fact that none of them hasn't brought «the subject» out yet.

"See, I told you she would use you in every way she can think of." Isabelle couldn't keep quiet any more. She hated pressure. After picking up the plates, she went out with a trivial excuse to fetch more water and obviously without any hurry to come back.

"She is still angry with me." Josephine stated.

"Nobody likes it when things are going behind their back, madame."

"Stubborn, but a good girl... I am so used to calling her a girl, and here, I forget she's a grown woman. Sometimes she seems to be so fragile, you know." She sighed with worry. "Twenty four, and who would say so when that childlike illusion comes to surface. And then when you least expect it, she shows strength and that will which refuses to bend or break. I don't get her sometimes."

"Perhaps she simply prefers to keep it to herself."

_Really? How did you guess?_ Having learned that men in general are a variable kind, Josephine counted on the fact that this man stood out of when it came to being ordinary.  
>Passing by, she patted him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. A comparison came to her mind in an instant: a young animal which turns still when touched on that spot behind the neck - right where it's mother would grab to carry it away.<br>It was similar with him, looking almost childish for a moment, so still and surprised, he stiffened at the contact. It didn't take her long to understand that he was probably not used to this.  
><em>What is it with you and women, strange man?!<em>

Then again, she could only guess things when it came to him. He was a complete puzzle in many ways.

"One thing is for certain. If you wan't to _hear _her, you have to learn how to listen to her silence. It speaks through walls."

She emphasized her statement, wanting him to hear those words well. It was supposed to give him a lot of thought.

Men could be really dull at times but this one... Something was different about this man. Stolid in a way as though he doesn't really know how to fully digest the obvious, but then in some ways surprisingly responsive. There were strange gaps. A lack when it came to empathy, he could learn to compensate, she was sure. Secretly, she'd be glad to give him a lesson or two.

He retrieved and went upstairs not much later, leaving the women alone.

When Isabelle came back, Josephine was still sitting with her face leaned into her hands.

"What is wrong with you? You seem to be somewhere else all day."

Josephine said nothing. It was very unlike her.

She pulled a little flute out of the bodice, she has been keeping it there close to her heart. "Erik gave me this. Says he found it up there between the joists."

"Was it..."

"Sebastién's..." She wiped the tear in the corner of her eye and placed a palm over her lips. "My boy..."

The girl sat by her side. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not, really. I only wish that knew about it earlier, he must have hid it up there." So many years trying to accept that her son was gone and that she couldn't have stopped him from joining the army. What could a sixteen year old boy have known about it? Only that he might, if only for once, earn a few crumbs of respect from his stepfather, get out of the way and «make a man out of himself» as her husband had put it. She should have known better. Her frail pretty boy...

"It is like a part of him came back home."

* * *

><p>He tried to ease his mind. At times like this, he would play. There was nothing to play on now. A «Little Fugue» came out of nowhere, his restless fingers started beating on their own but his mind enriched it with notes and his hands traveled on a plain back of the wobbly old chair he has straddled. As he got lost in the music inside his head, mastering a fictional instrument in spirited rapture, his hand grazed the sharp rugged edge of the chair. The crust broke and the wound stretched and opened afresh in places. It started bleeding again.<p>

Raising it to the light of the petroleum lamp, he studied the color of the hot fluid that drained down to his wrist. In a split second that little fugue turned into another one, much better known and sounding far more ominous. It fit perfectly with the sudden change in his mood and the onrush of memories whirling through his head.

He pressed that kerchief firmly onto the cut, squeezing his eyes tight and lying to himself that he did so because of the pain that arose and not the scenes playing before his eyes - those images which couldn't care less about his eyelids being shut.

Turning the dim light out didn't make the pictures in his head vanish. He only wished they could be erased that easily, knowing that he is doomed to carrying them with him.

He hadn't spilled the blood of his victims, wasn't that a paradox?  
>The well known metaphor was mocking him mercilessly.<br>_There is blood on my hands... and it will never be washed off._

Throwing himself on the cot with a thud, he shut his eyelids again.

* * *

><p>That despondent feeling was overcoming her again as the night fell. Staring through the window, she took the thin chain that hung around her neck, pulled it over her head and placed it on the nightstand, a small ritual she did every night. She liked that little routine.<p>

It would be a mild night, it seemed.

Holding the laces between her fingers, ready to loosen and undress, she stopped. It took her only a few moments to realize that she doesn't want to go to sleep just yet.

Isabelle wanted to be alone for a while. She wouldn't deny herself that little pleasure, this past few days have been extremely long. Opening the door, she ventured out in the still evening.

Josephine went to bed early. The light on the attic was shut down too. She sat outside for a while, relishing the evening breeze and knitting lavender in small bundles.

Then she felt something.

* * *

><p>There was no sleep for him. There was only a short moment in which his exhausted mind came close to a drowse.<p>

Then he heard those drums...

The same rythm that he had heard right after his prisoner had kissed him, the same sound which had been pounding inside his skull when he'd released her against his own will.  
>There had been no drums, he knew it all too well.<br>Hundreds of steps that had been chasing after him, a raging mob, brave when in a herd.

The sound of nearing execution.

That pounding noise haunted him and though he didn't want to hear it any longer, he knew that it wouldn't cease even if he turned deaf. Then his mind put the pieces together. It was just a trick of his imagination.

The sound came from steps down below, he could locate it quite precisely by now: it must have been those two stairs and the wooden boards...  
>Someone else was awake as well.<p>

In his darkness, he dragged the chair by the window and just sat there staring at the sky as the stars were gliding above the horizon. The moon was still growing and it wouldn't be full for a few more nights. Everything was calm except for the sound of a cricket and a few moths beating against random objects with their thick bodies, just like the conscience kicking inside his head.

The girl was outside, looking so serene while playing with something in her hands.  
>How he envied her on that tranquility!<br>It felt like some of it has passed onto him, he leaned on the small window, looking outside completely motionless. Only the crackle of the window panel gave away that he shifted his weight onto it.

There was something calming and familiar in the smell of wood. As well as the surface, smooth or rugged, each piece unique like fingerprints. He couldn't tell why it was so, knowing only that he liked working with it.  
>A master of an organized chaos that he was, he loved to hear that clicking sound when pieces would be put into the right place.<p>

Just when he was about to close his eyes, something diverted him out of his thoughts, he noticed her turn around and then move and stand up slowly and quietly, she began walking through the yard. He was intrigued. It seemed like she was headed nowhere in particular when she slowed down for a moment to look around, then gradually sped up and all but ran.  
>An alarm started within him. <em>Oh, no you won't! Not because of me!<em>

He jumped to the ladder in a rash decision. The other woman was in her room for a long while now so he ventured down quietly and stepped outside.

He couldn't see her right away so he followed her way soundlessly until her form appeared further ahead of him.

He went after her. Along the way wondering whether his presence might have disturbed her so much that she might run without looking back. Then he noticed how she stopped at the furthest corner of the vast yard, leaning on that fence above the road, gasping for air.

She has sensed it all along, there was _presence_ somewhere near.

He didn't have to watch her, the very fact that he was somewhere up there has suddenly made it clear that she was not alone even when she was outside.  
>And all she wanted was to be left <em>alone<em> for an hour or two. Too much has happened for the past week.

Following a sudden need to run, not escaping, she only came up to this point in a need to distance herself from everything and everyone, cursing the bitter tears which suffocated and teased her somewhere deep inside but wouldn't come out.

And that house was still too darn close! She couldn't cry her heart out even if she were able to.  
>Someone was always present, be it Josephine questioning, prying, plotting, teasing... Or be it <em>him<em>, watching, it seemed like there were eyes on her.  
><em>Eyes <em>observing from every corner.

He called out for her but she wouldn't turn. Now she knew that he came down as well. And by all means, she didn't want to be caught while feeling the way she did. She wouldn't look.

Then his hand reached out, grazing her wrist lightly and she turned back only to pull away.  
>She saw his face in the darkness, the demonic side stood out. Yes, tonight it seemed such.<br>Looking shaken, she recognized him and felt deeply embarrassed because of such a ruthless comparison. Her heart was pounding so strongly, she could feel the pulse in her throat.

"Isabelle, where are you going?"

She said nothing, thinking. _Why did you have to see this?_ Her eyes were wet, those things which wouldn't come out until then have now dangerously threatened to spill and she had to fight it all at once with utmost defiance. "Nowhere! You should not have followed me. "

His hand fell back to his side, abandoned in return for being unrightfully self-willed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you..."

The feeling that he has just touched her a moment ago, even briefly, still lingered.

It was not the same, this time _he_ has touched _her_. Abashed, she couldn't think further than «how dare you», slowly comprehending that no harm was meant.

She breathed in deeply like she was out of air for some time, trying to get herself together. Her hand came to her chest, seeking for the pendant that has been taken off some time earlier. She missed it, even _needed_ it right now. Looking all around, she braced herself tight.

He didn't know what to say or do, running a hand through his hair and contemplating. "You don't have to fear me. I will leave... very soon. Tomorrow if you wish, you'll never meet the sight of me again. Either way, there is no need to run."

"Don't bother to attribute this to yourself, _monsieur,_ there are things far more horrible out there." Abruptly, she stopped, too much has already been said. "I am not running. Not from _you_ nor from her crazy ideas." She wouldn't want to sound reckless like she just did, knowing that he wasn't the true cause all of this. "It is not your fault."

This girl was a puzzle he couldn't put together. "Isabelle, are you alright?" After a long time of uncaring, he found himself actually concerned about someone. Perhaps he was angry at first, thinking of all the trouble if she left because of him. Still, he felt guilty.

She knew that this way she couldn't keep her secret hid for much longer.

"Yes. I only needed some air, a little distance. Please, don't tell her."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "There's no need to tell her... Please?" Those eyes gave away how fragile she felt. Though she was aware that he could grab her at any moment, he could suffocate her screams, he could try to use the fact she was pleading him for discretion... But it seemed like cruel things were not on his mind. The feeling of vulnerability came from the fact that he _knew_ something, a little more with each day, if not for Josephine's talking then because of her own little improvident moves.

"As you wish, _mademoiselle_." Yet, he hoped she would simply make it easy for them all and just come back inside.

"Let's go back now. Shall we?" He waved his hand towards the house in an oddly polite demeanor. She couldn't find the right connection between a dusty dishevelled man and the stranger who read books and had fine manners. They walked back not saying much, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable at all.

They seemed to be just two children lost in the night and pacing back slowly.

Close to the house, he stopped for a moment and said something that was on his mind for a while. It seemed completely insane, especially now. "I said «no» to Josephine, thinking that it was a crazy idea... But if you wish to come along... It is solely your decision. I will respect it either way."

He decided to be frank and it came out easier than he expected. Was it pity that he felt? It would be ridiculous if it truly was so, like the roles exchanged.  
>Compassion? He had no idea what this was all about but he saw a person in front of him, something that he often missed to see in the sea of human shells all around him.<br>A sadness in her eyes and restlessness right there where a while ago he believed to have seen tranquility.

He wondered what she could see in him right then and there. "That is, if you think there is enough honour left in me to consider me trustworthy."

It was unexpected and she needed time to truly comprehend his words. "What _is_ honour? People use the term in so many wrong ways." She would have liked to know. Honour? Who ever dared to set the standard on the matter?

He didn't know either. His ideas were always diverse from what the rest of the world thought to be right. "We could talk about it for hours and only come to a simple fact that it is all an illusion created by people. A game of pretense, that's what I would call it."

Earlier today she would have rejected any thought of it, even ready to shout it out loud in his face. Things have changed with every day, every hour, word, gesture, look. There was something in this man... A very sad, lonesome shadow in his eyes.

She needed to sort things out with herself before considering it. "I'll have to think on that. I will let you know." Watching him reach for the knob, just before they would enter she said: "She doesn't have to know about that either."

He grinned thievishly. "No, she does not."

"Thank you... For not asking unnecesarry questions, _monsieur_."

"It is just Erik." Undertone, he only murmured one more thing: "And... thank you for the same."


	6. Chapter 6

**Poison **

Dreams are the strangest things. After so many nights haunted by his deeds and guilt, he dreamed of a knot.  
>He remembered sitting up in the rafters, looking down onto the burnt stage of the Opera he once haunted, holding a piece of rope tangled in a way he had never seen before, tossing it in his hands, examining it from every angle possible. But he couldn't find the right way to undo it. He, the infamous Phantom who could make a lasso in a blink of an eye, did not know how to untangle it. And he knew, he simply knew that it was very important to pull the right end. It kept him confused for the rest of the morning.<p>

_Well, I was always very efficient in driving myself crazy!_

And that wasn't the only trouble running through his head. He would be obliged to go now if Isabelle accepted the offer, thinking if he hadn't regretted it already. No more excuses or delaying, each day he would be getting closer to where he wasn't so sure that he really wanted to be. Backing away after leaving the girl was not an option, that would be plain cowardice.

_Who would know, in the end? Only me. And still, what would it make me? Un déserteur._

Once away from Paris and the mess he had left behind, he wasn't happy with this uprising of his conscience. He had been just fine when the damned thing was numbed down.

* * *

><p>"So have you thought about it?" Josephine was anxious to hear the answer. All she got was:<p>

"I can't answer the way you expect me to. Don't push me. Just don't."

Seeing how distant Isabelle suddenly became by the mere mention of Rouen, an arrow hitting just close enough to have such an impact, she decided to give her that proposition, an arrangement to get her there safe. If only she could do that, just have the two of them get on the way together... There was something amiss about him and it was not just his face, she knew from the start but she couldn't ascertain what exactly it was. Something between him and the rest of the world. And yet, her senses told her that he was of a determined kind. Hopefully a loyal man.

She'd observe, she'd learned to read the giveaway signs, she'd make a person talk - if not by words then otherwise. Through the years she came to know that silly fanatical village inside out from aching bones, burning rashes to unexpected pregnancies. And now it seemed she had more work with making the people in her own home speak out.

On the other hand, she has caught the two of them talking on a few occasions. Good thing that at least they started it on their own recently.  
>As though they've switched from <em>«vous»<em> to _«tu»,_ just like that – overnight, even though it seemed unlikely. She blamed it on her own thoughts wondering elsewhere for these past few days.

It felt like doing the right thing with these two strays under her roof.

The truth is, getting the girl home was more or less an excuse. There were things she had yet to learn. To trust. To follow her inner voice. To wake the instincts and learn to tell the difference. It didn't seem right to let a young woman's life form into a maze of circles, avoiding to face her fear. Fear is good when it serves you right. Not when it clouds your path so you can't see any further.

And now this man, poor devil, for whatever he had learned in life... Things must have had been going bad for him. A man so secluded, something had made him so. Unused to contact, ignorant to such obvious simple things. Darn it, she knew something could have been done with him if he hadn't made such a mess of himself. A touch of reality won't kill him, now. Perhaps not the kind of reality he's used to.

* * *

><p>The remnants of a life she had once lived have been precious to Isabelle. Another time that felt so distant. The reminders of a waking nightmare that ruined it haunted her mercilessly. Her fear was that the first would fade as the latter intensified. Somehow, not grabbing this opportunity would mean betraying herself.<br>She couldn't trust, she wouldn't trust any man. Still, something kept luring her into this madness. What else could she call leaving with a strange man, if not madness?

As Josephine caught her alone in the morning, she was still utterly uncertain. She has been considering it. It was ridiculous even to think rationally about all of this: when Josephine had first suggested it she had declined it immediately and then, after having a few moments alone with him here and there...

As Isabelle made sure he's gone out, she sat facing Josephine in a need of encouragement, or perhaps secretly hoping for the opposite. Deep down a part of her calculated that she would be stopped once again and wouldn't have to take the responsibility over avoiding. The other part was aware that she couldn't continue living that way anymore.

"It is time. You were right."

"Are you sure?"

"No." How could she ever be? "What else can I do? I have waited long enough."

"Then what's stopping you?"

She shifted a little, not knowing what to do with her hands, thinking. "You know."

"You're afraid of _him_? Look at him, he's dragging around like a beaten dog ever since he appeared on my property. I told you already, there is something strange about him, he confuses me but he doesn't make an impression of that sort. He's a different breed." More like he belonged to no breed whatsoever. The way Josephine would talk about that man was as though he could be dealt with quite easily with a little wile.

Isabelle took a deep breath. There was still a doubt. For the past days, she felt more comfortable around him, it was good talking to the man, and he did keep his word about staying quiet. But this would be a delicate situation. "You can't know that for sure. Should I go, it would be just him and me. What if he..." She stared at her hands laid on the table.

"What if he does? You tell me. Could you stand it? You've heard many stories, you've met other girls, you've said it yourself, they had talked about things." She hesitated for a moment knowing it wouldn't be easy talking about it.  
>"Could you stand that face hovering above you, if it came to that?"<p>

"It is not about his face!" It irked her that this woman of all people might not understand. How dares she bring it to down to a marred face? "It is not a pleasant sight, it's true. But it is more than that." She was growing nervous, but Josephine was speaking very calmly.

"It happened to you. And you survived. I know it sounds cruel, don't look at me like that. I only want to say that you are stronger then you think. And you must be wise, very wise if you ever find yourself chased in a corner. Don't deceive yourself, he is stronger than you. That is why women must be sly. You do what it takes to survive. "

"Good Lord, what are you saying..."

"Even if you don't know now, you will know when it's time. Isabelle, whatever you do, it will be the right thing."

She observed the girl who intertwined fingers trying to keep them steady. "But enough about him for now. What about yourself?" Quietly and thoughtfully, her approach changed into something else, in a much softer, kinder way she asked: "Dear... Have you ever thought about it?"

Isabelle stared at her, turning pale. She continued: "It had been a long time since. There is time to grieve, to heal and to move on. Not every man is the same, no matter how many times you'll hear otherwise, even from me. And it is a part of life, a challenge which awaits, if not sooner then someday when you fall in love or want to have a child of your own. Unless you want to lock yourself away from life, but both of us already know better, don't we?"

"But I _couldn't_..." She never really imagined sharing such intimacy with someone as a part of her life. The conversation was pushing her into a deep den of uncomfort. Spending a few years at Ursuline school, surrounded by sisters who would label such things as a sin, and by few other girls who had whispered about, even if she dared to hope that maybe someday she would be able to overcome it, she couldn't imagine it at the given moment_. "...someday when you fall in love..." What if I can't?_

"And I'm not saying that you will have to. That is your fear talking. I wouldn't let you go if I didn't believe my intuition." _Or his words, for that matter_._ "I couldn't." _He has said the very same thing, and damn convincingly.

Josephine knew she was on a slippery ground here but she let it come out.

"I have been keeping an eye on him all the time. He didn't even know, trust me. He didn't bother you. Not even a wrong look towards you. He went to the village those few times to get more material or tools. He doesn't chase women, he doesn't waste his evenings in the tavern...You'd be safe with him. And I've seen you talking to him, you would always hide or avoid men. You seem to accept him for some reason." She deliberately avoided another word, _«like»_, circling all around it.

"I don't know, maybe because he... he looks so hurt sometimes, like the whole world came crushing down on him." The confession made her look down in shame.

"See, that is what I'm telling you... He is a man. But look at him, like a big child at times! He eats and sleeps and plays, have you noticed how it is almost a game to him, all that work?"  
>Both of them were children, somehow.<p>

"And then, he's dragging around like a beaten animal and it doesn't look like he would be biting any time soon. Why do you think he stayed here for this long? He is putting something off and you're doing just the same. Besides, I've learned some things in my life. If it were me, I would close my eyes and take my chance. But that's just me. Either way, he seems like someone you'd want on your side when you're in trouble."

She took a sip of her tea wondering should she even bother with starting the subject. But when would they have a chance to talk openly again? "Isabelle, you've never told me the whole story."

And she never wanted to. People say that memories fade and time heals. The cruel trick of life was that she remembered it all too clear and it would never fall into oblivion. What was there to say? How much more would she have to speak out and let things be heard before the matter could be put aside?

"I told you enough..." The way she looked at that moment, like a timid creature ready to retrieve to it's shelter in spite of all that effort being put into luring her out.

"If you're not ready to talk about it, what makes you think you can go back?"

She knew Josephine wouldn't just let go. As much as Isabelle did not want to remember it, recoiling from bringing image of that man before her eyes, she had to talk now. The beginning of the story sounded so random at first. _"That man_... A supposed friend of the family, had begun courting my mother soon after time of mourning my father's death had passed. I didn't like it but I had no say in it. Mother fancied him and it didn't take him long to infiltrate into our lives, she was still rather young and wouldn't stay a mourning widow for the rest of her life."

The bitterness began seeping through her throat with every word. She closed her eyes remembering. "When father had still been alive, in the summers we'd often stay in our house in the country, and every year my mother would go on a pilgrimage. That year she did the same, even insisted about it, something about her had already changed. But I wouldn't go with her, finding excuses. I guess I preferred horses over church kneelers, and only started discovering this life, not caring about the one we're supposed to believe to come after."

A turning point was just in sight. She had to admit: "I lied about not feeling well. He wasn't even supposed to be there yet either but... See, a responsible mother wouldn't leave her young daughter unattended, alone with the servants and no members of the family present. _If only_ _she had_... And so, he had continued to impose. He had no right in that house! And I couldn't stand seeing him in the position that my father had once held. I guess he knew that already. I've been avoiding him ever since the beginning, trying to ignore him. He knew, I wasn't hiding it. Either way, he... caught me alone one evening when I sneaked out to groom my horse. He _attacked_ me... telling me that I should have learned my place by then, that I am no one to stand in his way. He cursed disobedient women, saying we're all the same. He hissed something about my mother, such vile words... He was drunk, I could smell it... But he surely would not have any more mercy if he was sober."

She trembled at the thought, finding courage to continue. "He called me a wild filly and said that one day someone would break my will and arrogance and it might just as well be him. I tried to back away but he grabbed my arm. I saw his crazed eyes in that moment, the way he looked at me... there was something ominous about it... I knew that I must run. That was the first time I've ever felt such instinctive fear. I think I shrieked... He lost his senses then... I fought... but he was stronger, he threw me down... No one heard me cry!"  
>Silently, she wiped her tears but they kept on coming in an endless rush. "No one heard me..." Then the sobs broke out of her and she couldn't stop them anymore. All she could form was: "Please don't ask any more... It is too much!"<p>

She couldn't go on. She couldn't tell her: _He hit me, my cheek burned, my pride burned even more... He threw me down, he twisted my arm as I tried to catch the railing, he was right there behind my back... That was when knew genuine Fear. I could feel his nasty breath on my neck, I thought I'd die as his weight crushed me down. His arm pressing between my shoulderblades, I couldn't breathe, I didn't want to breathe... I shrieked and then he ordered me to scream, and I couldn't make a sound anymore... Then the Pain came and I locked myself away, inside my mind, like it wasn't happening to me... Tears ran down my face, my eyes closed tight until it felt like it wasn't my own broken body. I thought he'd kill me. Something died within me. My thoughts blacked out, my heart hid somewhere like it pulled itself inside a shell... And I was pretending to be somewhere else... _

_Later, I was shaking on the ground, trying to recover the basic control over my own body, thinking that I must learn how to breathe again first and then make a move... I couldn't stop crying. _

_I can't explain it. I could never explain it only with words._

_I didn't want to feel. _

_I knew would never be the same again. _

Josephine came to sit by her side holding her tight like a mother would do with a hurt child, rocking her slowly. And at that moment that was exactly what she came to be, just a scared girl that she had been back then. She held her for a long time waiting for the girl to calm down. "You were too young to go through all that. But it is a part of the past now, try to leave it there."

A weak voice came from the girl that pressed her face into that soft shoulder just like a child would come to seek comfort. "You have no idea how many times I've asked myself ... _«Why»_? Wishing I had gone with my mother, or hadn't been sneaking out in the evenings to see the horses. What if I hadn't been so defiant?"

"Do you hear yourself, girl? How many times will you say "what if_ I_..."? It was not your fault! He hadn't even done it out of lust, it must have been that damned thing which makes them feel powerful when they feed their foul core on humiliating and hurting the defenseless ones. He had broken you because you'd been growing strong."

"I never knew... I swear, I never knew that men can do that to women out of rage and hatred. I can't erase it from my mind..."

"Haven't you told anyone back then?"

"I stayed locked in my room until my mother returned. For a long time I tried to wash his filthy traces off. But that awful sensation would linger on my skin for a time much longer than the pain itself. I couldn't get rid of the horrible feeling that he is right behind my back! Some things can't come off with water." Josephine recognized disgust and despise on the girl's face.

"No one ever talked to me about such things, you know. I knew some of it because the maids would always whisper about and I was used to seeing our horses breed... What I've been taught best was that such things are wrong and shameful. I couldn't even tell my mother what he had done to me, I felt such shame! She wouldn't listen, as if she didn't believe me but rather her own idea that I had always been my father's favourite and that I couldn't accept how things have changed. She knew I had disliked that man from the start. And he must have convinced her."

"All I had was fear and shame... one worse than the other, but together it was a poisonous blend." Her palms rubbed the skin of her crossed arms so roughly like a burning venom was still running right there under the surface.

"I couldn't tell her what he had done to me. I resorted to silence. As I refused to leave my room, she eventually gave in and arranged my sojourn at St Ursule's because it was supposed to be for the best. It had been where I'd go anyway, for education. That's where I remained. I only wanted to get away but I've resented her so much! Now I think that she didn't want to know, inspite the fact that I couldn't even tell her, she did not want to hear it... It wasn't until recently that I've realized from my sister's letters how mother must have been living in fear of him for years as well..."

"What are you going to do now?"

Suddenly she calmed down just like she was tired of all the crying, drained out of all the emotion, speaking in a cold tone she answered: "I want to see him rolling in the same dirt he left me in. I will chase him away."

There was a stranger waiting for her answer. Was he an honest man? But the utmost tragedy of life was that people that hurt you the most are also the ones whom you would least expect it from. She would take a chance. There would be no peace for her otherwise.

* * *

><p>Isabelle went to him. She needed to be sure. First watching him work for a while, wondering how to begin. The situation of the previous night had practically forced her into it and once they broke the ice it was easier.<p>

"Last night, what you said about leaving... If I wanted to go with you?" She wouldn't stare at him waiting for the reaction, instead she observed his hands sanding a board. She noticed the spot in the corner where he has been settled, the one which Josephine called a nest, and thought how the term suited the subject very well.

"I meant it." Sweeping the sawdust in one swift motion, he noticed her eyes are following his busy hand.

"I don't even know you. You're a stranger. How could I trust you?"

"Trust is... tricky issue." That didn't come out right. As if he doesn't give a damn, her choice, her problem. Wishing he had formed it differently, he put the tools away and sat on the boards wiping his hands. He gestured her to take a sit too; like it were his rooms. She chose a somewhat strategic position. Not beside him, not facing him directly.

The girl had been crying, he could tell that much. And tried to hide it, why so? If he never knew with women, he certainly didn't know what to do with one's tears.

If only for once she could get a straight answer from him, without beating around the bush! She needed to know. She sensed something about him that wouldn't let go. It took her a lot of nerve to ask him: "Will you tell me what it is that you're really looking for?"

"What do you mean?" For the first time that day he really looked at her with full concentration.

"If you had been certain, you would already be gone. You could find the nearest railroad and jump right on the train. If you were just a worker, you'd move on to some place where they could pay you decently." Now she was prying just like the woman who had obviously left a lot of influence on this girl. Somehow it didn't feel right.

"I hate trains." It was no lie. But it sounded rude.

He hesitated. What should he say now? Not the ugly truth.  
>Maybe a diplomatic answer would serve. It was hard to look into her eyes and say it. He was a good liar, though. But one tired of all the mendacity which had brought him nowhere in the end. This would either settle the agreement or mark him as a liar and impostor and turn her away. One way or another, he would be gone soon. "If you insist..."<p>

He lowered his gaze at first but it just didn't feel like something he would do. No. He had brought this on himself and he must stay what he was, with his head up. "There is no family I told Josephine about."

The cold stare that came back at him was quite deserved.

"I lied."

She should have known! She hadn't felt this naive since she had been a girl falling for silly tricks her sister had played on her. It was not funny now. "What games are you playing, then?"

He knew both Shame and Guilt, the acquaintances which had been following him for a lifetime, but it wasn't until his Christine had opened his eyes that he was introduced to them in person. They have been inseparable ever since that unfortunate night.  
>He knew he had done wrong and it left him with a knot in his stomach, a really unpleasant feeling. How to make it right? How to take responsibility when he mostly felt like making excuses?<p>

"I won't lie to you again." Because that's how it should be. Lies are exhausting. But _what if_, he thought, would he stick to his word if she asked about things? Brutal honesty? Why call it so, if honesty had been the last thing to describe the man in question?

"I am searching for my mother." Defending himself, his tongue was faster than his brain and he couldn't take those words back. At least those betrayed eyes ceased to whip him and started to mild down as he went on:

"I don't know her, we have been separated a long time ago. All I have is indication where to start looking."

_And you're honest now? Why now? _"So... Is that what is hindering you?" She tried not to sound accusing, unsure why she should bother at all. Either way, he did lie.

"Yes. I guess that the past won't let go nor will it go away." He tried to sound indifferent, like it doesn't hurt at all, the last thing he wanted was more pity.

This confession nearly pushed her back behind the walls she was used to building. So he told her, after all. Something was telling her not to question him too much, that she should allow him to keep some of the boundaries which he drew around himself, that he needed his confines just like she needed hers.  
>Maybe she hesitated to find out more because it might make her falter just when she was about to make a step. It was no cowardice from her side, more like a gamble, but she wouldn't push him further.<br>Maybe because he might start asking questions in return.

"I see..." She looked distant, he could swear there was more to her demureness than meets the eye.

"Strange man, roaming around... all to end up nowhere, seeking for something unknown?"

"Why, you ask? Because I can. I had never done so...before."_ Because I went where life would take me and it is different on my own two... and it feels all right. "Because I'm alive ...and I want to feel it._"  
>"Maybe I just got lost, seeking what I can't perceive."<p>

_How odd to say that..._  
>"It's your quest, Erik. I won't slow you down. Neither will I rush you." <em>Perhaps it might do some good.<em>

"Isabelle, the other day... you were hiding too."

She wondered how to explain without exposing her own weakness. "I am not even sure if there was a ground reason to do so. The truth is... Nobody knows I'm here. I'd like to keep it that way." She wanted to outrun him, knowing that he'd ask about it. "I left a nearby convent of Saint Ursule recently without much pomp. No proper announcement, that is."

"So, you were one of the sisters?" That was somehow surprising, he couldn't imagine her being kept behind walls, her hair covered with a shapeless cloth, but he declined that thought as foolish. Then he thought of her response the other day when he told her about people crossing themselves as he passes by. Of course she knew, how ridiculous of him not to suspect something alike!

"No, I just lived with them after I finished the school... as a protégé. But I wouldn't stay there any more and my family knows nothing about it." At her age, she could exit by her own will.

That left him even more puzzled than before. "And you want to keep it that way?"

"I prefer it that way. It is not time to let them know yet."

"Weren't you... worried about your safety? Should someone be expecting, waiting for you, it would make a sort of an assurement."

"I don't need such assurances. They are just empty words, after all. Give me your word, an _honest _one. I will rely on it."

His word? He couldn't imagine gaining a woman's trust based solely on that. "Why would my words mean more than any other?"

"I don' t know. Because you don't waste them in vain." She couldn't explain it otherwise.

They agreed to leave together in a few days time. He would escort her to her sister's estate. It shouldn't take more than a couple of days counting in that they'd rely on the roads and carriages. There was no rush for either of them. Past would always be waiting.

* * *

><p>He was was working on the fence now. A dried old plum had dug it's roots all the way under, making it unbalanced. It was broken in a few places too. Josephine wanted to keep the tree and that would mean digging the fence out, moving it, and furthermore fixing of the rotten split wood.<p>

The other one came to talk to him as well. "That was a nice work you did up there. I hope I didn't exploit you too much."

He wanted to go straight to the matter. "You are here for something else, aren't you?"

"You know I am. I don't want to hear a single word about that girl being hurt. Take care of that. And don't you dare to take advantage of her. She had suffered enough."

There was always more, he just knew it. "Whom is she hiding from? I have to know what I am dealing with."

"I can't tell you much. It is on her to speak about it. Her fears are what's haunting her the most. I can only say that she's been... _hurt_." She was deadly serious now. He may have gotten a clue what she was hinting, hoping that he is wrong. Suddenly the conversation he had with Isabelle earlier on began to show a new and completely unexpected side.

"She is not the kind of girl you can use ... You can get that elsewhere." He couldn't believe his own ears. But it was understandable, when he thought about it. After all, he was what he was, and also «an unknown man» should be the least of problems on the list of his controversy. It certainly wouldn't help if they knew he had abducted a girl just a few months ago. Saying it out loud would be a complete stupidity. "I don't hold such intentions. I couldn't, that I assure you."

He wouldn't dare to. That was the one crime he had never committed.

And certainly couldn't do it now. Something had died inside him on that night when he had released Christine. The last thing he needed in his life was another victim and an etiquette of a lecher. That is, if it hadn't already been attributed to him after the catastrophic premiere of his opera. The hypocritical disgruntled faces and gasps which were coming from the audience long before the whole unmasking charade, had spoken for themselves. They had thought his masterpiece to be lascivious and provocative. He didn't want to remember it now.

A hand patted his stiff shoulder, such a damn trivial thing, so awkward for him.

"Keep her from harm."

He nodded.

"And, Erik... if it takes a day longer than necessary, it just might be a good thing."

What was it, that the mad woman wanted of him, it drove him insane. "If you don't mind, I'd like to finish this today?"

"Oh, do go ahead. I was thinking about that plum, you know. There was never any real use of it, just like with my late husband. No decent fruitage nor shade. Feel free to finish it off."

He felt like strangling her then and there.

_After_ _all the effort to keep it... Now you dare to change your mind?_ All he did was sigh in resignation and make a wiser choice, taking his frustration out on the poor old tree.

* * *

><p>At the dinner he hoped that the chicken meat in the soup belonged to that old rooster. Not that he would have to listen to the ugly bird for much longer but it would give him at least a little bite of that taste of victory, even if the meat would be old and gristly. Unfortunately, the damned thing was still alive and screaming in all the wrong hours of the day including the given moment. "If there was a mechanism that could be fixed inside of that thing, I would separate him into pieces."<p>

The hostess had an answer ready. "I am afraid there is nothing that can be done but one thing...But he's too old even for a decent meal."

The awkward silence of the previous night was left behind and they found themselves spending an evening in a nice conversation. He never thought that a simple naughty comment like this one could bring people to relax in his company. And it felt good, he had to be honest with himself.

Maybe it was because another layer of deception has been peeled off of him and yet nobody would shun him away.

He has been welcomed here and it has been good ever since so. Maybe even because everything seemed normal, like an ordinary life which he couldn't remember ever having, the life he'd observed from distance. Now there was a woman plucking beans for the next day, the younger one was ironing the clean robes. And his shirt was in that pile too, equally with all the others. Never had he watched a woman iron his shirt.

The blood was washed away as though there has been no stain at all. So simple it seemed... Cold water rinsed the smears. Flatiron heated on the stove ready to smoothen the creased fabric. The calming scent of soap and linen rising in a vapour from the hot surface and filling the air around them. If only life could be so simple.

If not his hands, could his heart ever be cleansed from the sins he had committed? His mind, at least?

Even if so, he wouldn't dare to hope. But this one good thing he would do, even if he had selfish reasons at the start, those were put aside now. He would help her because it felt like a right thing to do.

They talked about possible places to stay and which roads to take. Fortunately for him, Isabelle didn't mind taking the longer way if it meant less risk to meet unwanted company but she found a much nicer and more concealed way of saying that.

Josephine had only one thing to say about that: "You've learned enough in these few months to solve the problem of _any man_ who might endanger you." Behind the girl's back, she gave just a tiny little warning look under her eye to the man sitting across the table. "Mother nature has plenty of poison hidden out here, just like the remedies."

"You mean, I should be worried if she cooks something?" He was amused, deliberately giving a quizzical look to both of them.

The girl turned back swiftly, putting the heavy iron aside. "By God, Josephine! I should have expected something like that coming from you!" She turned to Erik: "She is just teasing, it is her that people should be worried about."

They stayed by the table talking about everything and nothing till the night fell.

Later that evening as he went through the few items in his possession, realizing how little he had, Erik found that he was quite satisfied with that. As he laid to rest, he wondered if he could have ever had such an easy evening if his life had turned the other way that night. If he hadn't deceived a gullible girl or lost his senses when she had found what he truly was. If only she could have seen the man behind behind his face, under the surface. He took the ring out of his bag and imagined... A life, the closest to normalcy as it could have been.

At the same time Isabelle was putting her thoughts together and gathering strength. She was ready because this time she had to be. The next days would be long and it seemed that the night preceding them was going to be even longer. But she was calm, ready to turn the page, her thoughts drifted away, it took her a while to fall asleep but she wouldn't wake until the morning.

Alone in the kitchen, Josephine was struck by the realization that very soon this house will be silent and lonely again. Nobody to cook for, nobody to take care of. In her moment of solitude she wanted to see her home coming to life some time again, just like tonight. She wished that her strays would come back from time to time. Ever since the first day Isabelle came to gain her heart like her own child would have. A daughter she'd never had. _It is so easy to grow fond of you, girl. _Even that stranger, unused to being taken care of as it seemed, a lonesome man, she'd easily grown a habit of having him around.

She only hoped that all will be well. This time it had to be.


	7. Chapter 7

**Role playing**

He was finishing his morning ritual, already washed up and shaved. Secretly he was glad his hair was a bit longer now so it could cover at least some of the ruin on the side of his head. Even a wreck like him had moments of vanity. He had burnt alive under that Sun, he concluded, reaching for some balm, that thing he got for the cut, anything. There was no more.  
>Who would have guessed, from so many foolish accusations that used to be attributed to the Opera Ghost, stealing little Meg's powder box turned out to be true. Too bad he hadn't had the brains to take it with him. God knows if the mob had found it down in his lair, he reproached himself, staring into the old pocket mirror, pressing a shaving cut. <em>You can't stand your own reflection. <em>

Then he looked down on the yard. She was outside already. _So, the girl wouldn't back out. You have to give her credit for that. At least someone has the nerve. _The long braid of her hair falling down her back flipped across one of her shoulders as she bent. She was wearing... trousers?!

His eyes opened wide in disbelief. The last time he'd seen a female wearing breeches was _that _night. He concentrated on eavesdropping as Josephine came into the picture and started cackling about.

"You intend to go in _that_?"

"Naturally." A reply sounded as if it was the most common thing in the world.

"I knew there was no chance that I'll see you wear a nice bonnet but... This? Are you out of your mind?"

"I can put a skirt over any time. I'll carry only what I need. It's faster this way." Judging from the sound, no one could make her change her mind. And she was apparently having fun. "Don't you think it is unfair that men have it the easier way?"

"And you think he'll tolerate that?" She put an accent on «he» that couldn't be missed.

"That is between him and me."

He was amused. Even though silent and modest for most of her time, the lady seemed to have her moments of effrontery and mischief. She had a wild chord which he, a child of wilderness, began to discern somewhere within her, live and pulsating, not in spite her lady manners but rather a peculiar addition to her personality.

He liked that wild trait.

_This might be a big mistake but at least it will be something to remember. _For the time being, he switched from the leading role of a tragedy to a side role in what appeared to be a farce. He went outside, all serious. It seemed that Josephine was not happy, even though the very situation just might be the result of all the encouragement and the strength she was trying to spark in that girl.  
>The women looked at him saying good morning but nothing more, anticipating his reaction. At least the older one was, because Isabelle was acting like there is nothing strange at all.<p>

Josephine couldn't hold her tongue. "So what do you have to say about that unhewn girl?"

Isabelle stood upright with one arm against her waist, looked at the woman all determined, then concentrated on him, trying not to reveal whether she is truly serious about this.

How she reminded him of Madame at that very moment... Not because of her features or that long braid. It was all in her pose and the little things like staying calm or taking a moment to think before she would speak out. All she needed was a cane to wave around with.

He shrugged his shoulders. Personally, he didn't care. Passengers on the roads might think differently. Besides, it was an interesting sight. He may have been heartbroken, empty and numb, but he wasn't blind. And far from a dead man, as she had said once.

"Well, if you were in Paris you would be breaking the law... But I don't see gendarmerie around here."

"Thank you." She tilted her head pleased with her little victory.

He was pleased because the prying woman was displeased.

"City boy and a tomboy... Ha! The two of you couldn't have possibly found more suitable company than each other!" Josephine realized that her «children» are actually quite insolent brats. As she left inside repeating «unhewn» and «impertinent» along the way, the girl finally spoke: "I am only teasing her, let's say I owed her that one. If it doesn't bother you, of course?"

The smirk on his face could hardly stay hidden, and he simply had to say something. Anything. "You could say I'm quite used to the sight."

"You just said it was against the law." Judging from her inquisitive look, she had no idea what he was saying.

He explained: "It were usually costumes for the stage."

"So you are familiar with theatre world?"

"I ... used to be." All he was thinking at the moment was to change the subject.

It went with the side of him that liked literature. Not with the part of him that led him into Josephine's little play. "Interesting...", she remarked as she went inside. She may have been cheeky enough to tease Josephine in return for all the little things. She wasn't ready to challenge Fate with cross-dressing. Not yet, at least.

* * *

><p>They stayed a while longer. But Josephine knew she mustn't keep them from leaving, after all, she had spent a lot of time trying to make this work. She couldn't afford to make a mistake with these children.<p>

"Let me hear from you once in a while." Josephine hugged her friend closely to the chest. Then she looked at the man beside her but didn't speak to him directly. She smiled gingerly, patting him on the shoulder once or twice. She knew his reaction in advance, it would probably seem like he was about to jump out of his own skin. She did it anyway.  
>"Even that ghost rumbling in the attic has grown to my liking."<p>

The word «ghost» felt like a fist into his stomach. He cleared his throat. "There are no ghosts, madam, I should know."

"I'll be lonely without you, girl." Josephine wiped the tears that escaped her eyes.

They headed off towards a long road. He knew there was no turning back this time. She felt that she was stepping into a new chapter of her life and still she didn't know the kind of the story she was living through.

* * *

><p>As they walked side by side, he realized that this young woman would be his constant company for the following days. No turning back on it. The silence was acceptable but with time it would inevitably get awkward. Besides, this would be a chance to get to know her a little better. As long as they would talk about her, they wouldn't have to talk about him.<br>And yet, there was not a single question forming in his head that wouldn't sound like sticking his nose where he shouldn't. There were a lot of questions for that matter. What he didn't know was that she was thinking something alike.

"So where in the world did you get those trousers?" At least he would try to get an answer to that mystery.

It surprised her, and yet the more surprising thing was that he hesitated this long only to blurt it out suddenly.  
>"I've sewn them. It seemed to be practical. You never know when you'll have to get around with what you've got."<p>

For some reason, he expected a story of much more contrariness. But then, as far as he knew, this wasn't that much unlike her either. "So you planned something like this all along?"

"Let's say that I wanted to leave for a long time but I couldn't just walk away."

"You didn't plan to take a wow, then?"

Noticing his eyebrow, the good one, rise up as he spoke, she smiled a little as though the question couldn't possibly be serious. But she put herself together right away out of some secret respect to all those who could make such a choice. "No, I can't imagine spending my whole lifetime behind the walls."

But he could. He almost had, buried alive under the Opera. "Josephine told me you've spent quite some time there. Why not leave earlier?"

"I owed it to someone who had been taking care of me. The old mother prior had been ill. She held me dear, I took care of her until she passed away. She was a kind woman, very understanding. One of the rare people you could confide in."

"Aren't all the sisters supposed to be like that?"

"They are just human. And humankind doesn't lack of variability and surprises. It is the same behind those walls."

"I guess it is the same all around." _If_ _I could only tell you...how right you are._

She sighed unsure of how much she should tell him. "It was a very different way of life. Sometimes I didn't even think of it as a life, more like... hiding from reality. Those everyday rituals kept repeating, everything seemed to go around in circles. Even the girls that would come to find refuge there had the same repeating reasons to do so, same stories. I felt numb for all that steadiness but there was no real peace for me inside."

_And still you said nothing. But we have plenty of time. More than enough._

"And now you are going to throw yourself into the harsh reality?" He really put an effort to make it sound like an unimportant innocent question. He even said it in an amusing overdramatic tone.

There really was something about it that reminded her of that remark about the theatre.

"What makes you think that?"

"Your friend said you have unresolved matters waiting at home. And you've said it yourself, the past never lets go."

How much did he actually know? Suddenly she turned serious and distant. "It is only family issues and a question..." _Of honour, in a certain way._ "It is easy to forget someone that stayed far away for a long time, don't you think?"

How strange for him to feel sorry for someone, instead of being the object of pity.

"So you've lived with Josephine ever since?"

"I wasn't going to stay for long at the beginning. But she knows how to lure someone to stay. Why, I needn't tell you. You've experienced it yourself."

"That I did. Although I have no idea why she would want a stranger around."

"She is observing, always seeing the good things about people. I suppose she condemned you to fixing that roof the very first evening she met you."

"So there really was no hope for me from the start?" It was a bit embarrassing to realize. The very reason he stayed there in the first place was because he evaluated that woman as one of harmless and simplest kind. He has misjudged her, such a serious mistake in other circumstances wouldn't have meant anything good.

After waiting a while he was asking again. "And how did she manage to keep you around for so long? Mind me say, you seem very aware of her wits."

She started remembering. "Well... The first time I came to her door it was bleak midwinter. She offered me to stay and gain my strength and health back. Later, she would not let me wander around this parts alone, be it the cold, the dangers of the roads, the tensions in the country, always something. And I liked it there. I started helping her around in the meanwhile, it gave me a further reason to stay around. I liked learning from her. More than once she did her best to «talk me back to my senses», as she would love to remark. Now I think that maybe I just wasn't ready to leave." Then she added: "Neither was she."

"I see..."

"Do you? She's patient and adamant when it comes to waiting. It seems to have directed a big part of her life."

If nothing else, he knew exactly how that feels.

"It is not easy for her to stay behind all by herself."

"Once she has told me that she can't leave."

"I know. It is a sad story. She had lost a son, her only child. He never came back from the army, not a word did she get about him. Whether he had been killed, captured, missing... She doesn't know what became of him. And she hadn't gone far from the village ever since then, still hoping, waiting for some sign."

Never having thought of that merry woman as someone who carries such a deep sadness, he was surprised to hear it. "How long has it been?"

"Since they went against the Habsburgs over Savoy."

His confused expression said it all, she could read it plain and clear. That must have been over a decade ago. "It has never even occurred to me..." Everyone had a story to tell... or to keep for oneself.

"That is the sad part. She knows he's gone but still... I guess a mother's heart always nourishes a hope."

He knew nothing of that, his own mother had likely done her best trying to forget. But he did know what it was like to stick to one place for years.

They decided to rest a while and she used the opportunity to refresh a little by the river, too careful to leave his sight for a moment of privacy, she needed it. Coming back, it seemed there was a little feast waiting for her. He was already busy with slicing the cheese and the bread. A pot of jam still unopened. Also some pears that he has «confiscated» as he wouldn't admit that it was stealing along the way.  
>"So, for a person who had spent a long time living by Holy Commandments, you don't really mind stolen goods, do you?" He couldn't help but make that silly remark as he watched her cut the slice of her fruit.<p>

"Earlier on you said the stolen ones are the sweetest. I decided to trust you this time." It was a poor excuse when all along she watched the sweet sticky juice drain down and couldn't wait to have a taste.

"And so I have lured a God's child into sin?" He wondered what the answer would be.

"You are forgiven." The decision has been brought after the first sweet bite. "But for penance you must hurry and find us a place to stay before the night reaches us."

He liked her verdict.

* * *

><p>Soon they ventured towards the little place that was waiting further on.<p>

There was no inn in such a small settlement and so they tried for a tavern. The solution which he used when travelling alone didn't seem like an option. In a female company he had no intention of robbing them of the little comfort they could get. A far as he was concerned, this would probably be the only time that he'll ever have the honor of escorting a woman. How odd - to have a woman by his side. Though she was nothing of his, he'd do this as it suits. Not that much could be done to make accommodation better in a place like this.

She noticed when he didn't take his hat off at the entrance. However, that didn't seem too unusual to the owner who would welcome all of his clientele with the same look. Never in her life had she been in a place like that. The few men seemed busy with their drinks and playing cards, the murmur never ceased and the smell of smoke and liquor filled the room. They did give a noticeable number of curious looks to the new guests. She felt exposed as men would turn their attention to her and she clutched her sack tighter to her body. Not that it would help. Avoiding their eyes, she didn't dare to look straight at any of them, it was one of those situations when one has to bow his head. But she noticed they were staring at her companion just as well, with severe seriousness and questioning eyes. A barn seemed a much more pleasant place at that moment.

As he was talking to the bartender, she seemed to become ever more aware of her situation. What made it even more uncomfortable was the fact that she couldn't hear them clearly because of all those voices outspeaking. Would he arrange them to stay in separate rooms, decently ? _Would he dare not to?_ Her heart was pounding rapidly, she could feel it in her throat. She had to remind herself to keep on breathing as the moment of panic wouldn't cease. If there was a moment in which she should have run, it seemed to have just passed.

He took the keys and as the waitress showed them the way upstairs he took a chance to catch her alone for a moment. "I told them you are my sister."  
>He leaned closer, not wanting the conversation to be overheard. "If anyone asks, we have buried our poor old father last week and now we are going back to north where we work."<br>She nodded in understanding. "Then I will be to devastated to talk about it, I suppose."  
>He was glad to have a clever accomplice, only hoping that she was just as good in acting.<p>

"The rooms are upstairs. I will be right next door if you need anything." As he gave her the key to her own room, she appraised him as trustworthy. There were no words to describe her sudden onrush of relief. _Thank you, thank you, thank you..._

He asked her if she would like to dine but neither one of them felt like going downstairs, so they retrieved, alone for the first time in a while.

After she washed herself and her garments in a bucket of hot water brought to her, she felt more than ready for a good night of sleep. She was drifting away really soon, wrapped in a linen sheet she'd brought with her on the way. It felt cozy to feel something familiar and undoubtly clean.

In the other room he splashed some water over him and tossed the shirt onto the chair. Surrounded by the walls that protected him from the strange looks but not from the noises that gave away that somebody was having fun, he spread himself over the simple bunk, heavy and tired. He didn't bother to take his trousers off after such a long day. Turning drowsy, he tried to ignore the hints that tonight's dreams would be restless.  
>After quite some time, he found himself separated from the rest of the world with a real lock. There had been times when he'd wished for a real house with real windows. But a real lock... that was what he needed.<p>

With his last sane thoughts his fingers traces a little pouch that kept a ring inside but they didn't open it that evening.

* * *

><p>For what seemed like hours later, there was knock on her door. She knew it would be him.<br>Could it be that she was wrong about him? It frightened her. He made no such intention so far. Why now?  
>The moonlight filled the room with blue tones. It wasn't cold but she felt the shivers down her spine. Afraid to open the door, she hesitated but her hand seemed to have a will of it's own. She reached for the key, not sure if she wants to open the lock. Either way, she was doing it. The moment lingered filled with tension and suspense. At the same instant, the warm light peeked into the darkness of her room. She woke from the dream with a start, still in her bed.<p>

There was no one else in there. A strange warm current floating through went straight into her head.

A feeling of shame ran through her mind.


	8. Chapter 8

**Doors**

Her eyes blinked under a peering sunray. Curled up in a linen sheet, she could still sense a light flow of cool air coming from somewhere above. Remembering where exactly she was and how she got there, her arms braced her knees as she sat up on the cot. The place was silent for a change, a big difference from the night before, and it seemed like there was no one else around. Her garments were spread over the chair, drying. The window was closed, fresh air still penetrating in through the cracks of the old structure. There were the drawers, the mirror, the door...

_My God, the door!_ That dream came back to her in a flash! Someone has been knocking... Not just _someone_. It was him, she knew it. One of those dreams when you simply _know._ Her eyes immediately examined the only entrance into the room. The key was still inside the lock, unmoved. _I was going to open... _It was hard to admit it even to herself. _It was just a strange dream, nothing more._ She ran her palms down her legs. Something stirred inside her, something powerful.

She knew the feeling very well, sometimes at all those lonely nights there was this waking, lingering, demanding course running through her and she would clench her thighs together but it just wouldn't cease, sometimes growing even more intense... And at times it felt good, knowing that there was still something inside her that refused to be killed. At some times it felt quite exciting, she learned how to keep the sensation going, and yet, she would not dare to go much further.

It filled her with shame. She never spoke of it herself, the awareness of the fact that she could feel this way, but she had heard other girls back there always talking, whispering, giggling. No, she was not supposed to feel this way. It didn't feel right.

She needed some air, that has always been a decent excuse for a lady. The squeaking sound of the rusty hinges filled the room disturbing the peaceful silence. Fresh morning breeze filled her lungs and her skin cowered.

She followed the ruined traces on the worm-eaten window panel. It looked as though some insensible force had been working for long years, digging all those little tunnels. Like a silent inner enemy, it had been broaching the wood and would continue devouring it until there is nothing left, except maybe just a frame of something that once used to be.

That woodworm... she could easily find another name for it.

_Bitterness. It's exactly the same, it eats you alive and destroys from within._

She was afraid of waking up one morning only to find how all that is left of her, _real her_, is only a frame, a shell empty from within.

The dust floating in whirls that sparkled in early morning light gave a perfect addition to the atmosphere.

It was time to get up. All the way from the entrance to the bed, the ancient wooden floor was time worn and some of the pieces were replaced with a newer material that just didn't seem to fit by color, the mottles, nor the size. She wondered how the owners could create such a mess and not be bothered by it at all. There was no clock in the room.

_Is he awake already?_ They never settled the time they would meet. He was in the room right next to hers, just behind a thin wall. _So close._ She would wait, there should be some sign to give away that he was awake, a sound perhaps. She waited for quite some time before hearing those familiar steps, the infallible long strides.

* * *

><p>The sheets were rumpled all around like someone has been tossing and turning him for the entire night. <em>What did you dream up this time?<em> He couldn't remember although he would have liked to._ It weren't the usual night games of your mind. No, your mind was somewhere else, just like your hands, it seems. _He dragged himself out of the mess and decided it was time to put himself into order. Some quarter of an hour later, he stepped out of the room wondering if he should ask the maid to call for Isabelle or simply knock on the door. Neither was required as she peered out of her room on the first sound of his footsteps.

"Good morning." She tried not to shy away.

"Did you sleep well?" He couldn't think of anything more eloquent at the given moment.

As she nodded, another door opened. A young woman sneaking out from the room all tousled, obviously not expecting anyone else to be there. She hurried away looking down, fixing her hair with one hand and putting something away with another. The mumbling voice gave away the presence of someone still inside.

Funny, they were the ones who were embarrassed, recognizing it on the other one's face. Like a truth veiled in transparent sheet of deceivement. It's what happens, nothing new about it. But it wasn't a part of her world.  
>And he, how many times had he witnessed it, that shameful bliss, hiding traces after fervent encounters? Yet, he had never felt it on his skin.<p>

I failed her, he thought, it's not the place for her.

He spoke first: "How about a breakfast downstairs?"

They sat by the table in the distant corner, picking from their plates. He chose that corner himself while waiting, it was a nice position, keeping them out of direct view. She wondered if he did it because he prefers keeping himself out of people's sight. She wouldn't dare ask.

"No coffee." His voice was still a bit rasping.

She noticed those frowning lines between his eyes must have left a permanent mark. Always something tense on his forehead. "Too bad. Now we can't tell your fortune."

"Why, it's bad." It's been so since his birth.

"Oh, how would you know? There is no coffee to tell."

He shook his head, almost laughed a little, and these days it wasn't that intimidating or self-satisfying laughter after a mean prank like before in his Opera domain. "Not that I could change it, even so."

Not much of a morning person, this man, she concluded. "But maybe you'd find which way to turn."

"What, the wheel of Fortune? Or towards some place with coffee?" She's spent too much time with Josephine, he thought. No wonder she toys with words.

Too bad he would have to leave her behind. She's so full of life.

The place was pretty much empty except for them, the waitress and some local man who apparently had to fulfill his morning dose of cognac. An older man came down and placed himself by the bar.

The girl they have seen sneaking out earlier on, joined the waitress at the bar. As she was passing by, the older man grabbed her by the waist and pulled to his side. All that her reaction seemed to be made of was a specific movement of her fingers across the pocket of the man's vest, and a faked smile that disappeared the very moment she turned away from him.

Finding the opposite wall very interesting all of the sudden, Isabelle looked away. Suddenly impatient to get out of there, she couldn't help but to feel pity for that girl. She's too young for this, does she even know what she's doing to herself?

Erik felt sickened by his own hypocrisy. It was so easy to abhor. To judge an older man having his way with a mere girl. But this was for money. And who was it again that tried to force a marriage upon a girl not much older than this one? All that comes with it? And with abduction and threats, nonetheless. Shame overflew him.

He wondered - had he gone through with it, if that was what he would have to satisfy himself with. A fake smile that wouldn't exist longer than necessary to keep him in deceivement, a touch not desired but only tolerated, a look in his bride's eyes that would give it all away, a life of lies and blaming and torment and denial... _I am so sorry, Christine._

"Let's leave this place."  
>It was a whisper, waking him from quiet regret. She didn't want to be here any more. Well, neither did he. Standing up, he pulled the chair out for her. Not what people would do around here. Not what a brother would do, in this elegant way, not so awkward about getting closer as the lady stood up.<p>

They left off never looking back. She was keeping up with his pace even though her muscles were aching a little, but she wouldn't show weakness even though slight pain was the cost. Moving always made it better, it would cease with time.

There could have been another choice. A train, he had offered that solution out of courtesy yesterday. The offer still stood, regardless of Josephine's idea. All she had to do was say the words and he'd provide the ticket, escort her to the nearest train station and let her leave, no recompense, no hard feelings. Perhaps making it easier for both of them. But this time it wasn't about an easy escape, she knew.

Her pride wouldn't let her accept it.

Neither did the fact that it would be all too sudden. And when in the world would she get the chance to roam around like this once she returns to her own? There was some strange form of freedom in this.

She found him somewhat distant, doleful, much different than yesterday's curiousity._ A coin for your thoughts, strange man. _If it should truly work that way, her pockets would soon be empty in a company of such a pensive man, she thought.

It was her turn this time. "You've said before that you've been on the road for weeks now. How come you didn't get much further by now?"

"Ah, but a few days ago you seemed to understand hesitation quite well."

"You don't seem to be hesitating these days and it is hard to imagine, in a way."

"Because with you there is no turning back." It was not a compliment, not a reproach, nothing similar, nothing personal, just a resigned statement. And he appeared to be very sure of his words.

She was not certain if she was blushing or turning whiter than pale but something in his words made her feel shaken. Was she really the factor that made him move on further and sooner that he really wanted to? For some reason, she didn't want to carry that responsibility.

He kept talking: "When one is alone for a long time, one must deal with his thoughts. And it is easy to simply take a turn, making the way that much longer."

"Is it truly so bad, facing the thing that made you come all this way?"

"Most likely, there is nothing to look forward to."

"Nothing or no one?" _Are you always so resigned about such things?_

He looked towards the horizon, serious, not wanting to continue this. She still waited for an answer. There was concealed hurt in the sound of it: "No one."

"I am sorry." She didn't push it any further. _It hurts you, doesn't it?_ Looking at him she noticed how his shoulders hunched a little, his eyes looking away at nothing in particular, his resignation the one of a loner. At that moment she felt the unexplainable need to hold his hand. She didn´t dare to.

_"C'est la vie._" He shrugged his shoulders. "And you? Is there someone you look forward to seeing?

Again, she didn't expect that either. In a second that man returned with a strong posture, as if he wasn't looking like he would die of loneliness just a few moments before.

"My sister. And her children. I haven't seen them since in years."

It thoroughly surprised him that the list was pretty short. "And your mother?"

"It's ...different with her. Maybe I should simply wait and see where it all leads." In absence of focus her hand reached for something in the level of her chest. He fought hard not to stare. In a glimpse he noticed a shiny object, some sort of a medallion. She brushed it with her thumb and put it back inside.

"And as for later? What are you going to do once you get back into «real life»?"

"I don't know. It seems so far away and yet it's just behind the corner. Just live, it is a start."

"Living... Well, it does sound much better than bare surviving."

"That sounds comforting. Are you always so optimistic?" She teased on purpose, what else could they do, both so unfortunate?

"Sure." He accepted the game right away. "I ought to be when it's such a wonderful life. Honestly, I thought you would have a more specific plan, with Josephine's preparations, sewing trousers for free minded women, I don't know... Creating a home, a family?"

_And suffocate slowly within the grip of a life I don't know how to live?_ "And know what all of my days will be like... I think I'd rather start with a decent book."

"I see, the lady disfavours bourgeois small-mindedness. Well, then... A romance?"

"No. Not really. They seem so unconvincing most of the times, don't you think?"

"Aha. Something more realistic? Balzac?"

"No. I don't like him. Nor the way how easily he uses some... terms." If she tells why, she might take it too far and then he'll know. And what in the world was realistic about that man writing about woman's nature? "I did like Séraphîta, however. I really did."

_Androgynous, angelic, unreachable..._ It reminded him of the illusion he had created. And how it hurt to fall in Christine's eyes, to wipe the dust of lies and reveal a man, flawed and desperate._  
><em>

"Mind me, I think he might have liked you. The inspiration works in mysterious ways." She'd get a story of her own, he thought.

"Ah, perhaps your critical mind should find it interesting to browse through Flaubert's work, or de Laclos."

Then he nearly bit his tongue, thinking that maybe the suggestion was out of line, remembering how people rather notice the controversy in the story instead of the unhappiness and inability to change it.

"I have."

"Really? When? Surely not at Josephine's place? And I thought you have spent the past few years in a strict school."

"I don't know how strict they are at boys schools but I'm sure it's different. Isn't it?"

He turned quiet, knowing little of that matter and finding it difficult to admit. "I don't know... I never went to school."

He squeezed that last one out so silently, she could swear that the man is embarrassed for not having formal education. What a pity, for such an exceptional mind. Though perhaps it wouldn't not have been the same for him, if so.  
>She didn't want the story to end in such tone.<p>

"Well, girls were going crazy surrounded with nothing but work, study and prayer. You think no one ever tried to smuggle something in? "

He stopped, observing her, trying to figure whether she was serious, she made a few steps further before turning around to see why on earth did he stop now. Something unexplainable happened as he was trying to draw the picture in his mind, a blunt expression turned into a grin, knowing that he was fighting the inevitable, about to burst like a nut in a nutcracker. He snorted and laughed out briefly and suddenly. Shoulders shaking, suffocating any sound of laughter almot at once, he ran one hand through his hair not knowing what else to do with it.

She thought it was a nice change to see him like that for once. "Is that so surprising?"

"I've never seen one of them reading a novel, and certainly not a controversial one. Now I'll never be able to stop imagining what it really is that they hide under the black covers."

"Listen, I was nothing more than a protégé. They would not have been happy at all to find..." She gave up on explaining, finding that he wouldn't take any context seriously now. She smiled at him.

A genuine smile, without any hidden traces of sorrow or pity, just a sincere smile and he couldn't remember if he had ever been given one like that. It felt good.


	9. Chapter 9

**Rustling in the hay**

After some hour of rocking and waggling on the back of the hay wagon, the driver left them off on a crossroad, accepting a symbolic recompense, turning further on to another direction. Erik was deeply glad to have his presumptions proven right, it was easier in a tandem.  
>Women - one never knows what he gets with them.<br>This was the third ride they've managed to get, and even though he'd get suspicious stares, the lady by his side had a gift of charming people unawares with those pretty pleading eyes, humbly standing aside, claiming how she wouldn't want to be a burden. Though she wouldn't have to speak at all, with that childlike appearance coming out to surface and speaking for itself, Josephine was damn right about that one.  
>Isn't it ironic how that sweetest thing wouldn't want to attract attention, but it was simply impossible for her to stay unnoticed? And poor fools, they bought it every time.<p>

She was shaking the hay off her dress, and envied her companion, there was too much material in the skirts for the straws to prick in. If men were to wear so much clothing, she concluded, any kind of dresses would be _demode_ and forgotten after the first season.

"So no trousers today either? They make such things easier, you know." It was like he read her mind.

She took a few strands and tossed them at him a bit playfully. Though brothers and sisters rarely play once they grow up, she found it quite amusing.  
>She preferred to see him as a tease than a somber serious man whom she had first met. There was a boy within him, she could see him fighting to come out.<p>

"Don't tempt me for I'll leave all the explaining that will be required to you." She would gladly jump into trousers but the two of them made an odd couple even without such peculiar addition. "This one did not believe I am your sister more than he believes in fairy tales."  
>"He would believe anything if it had brought him a coin or two. I bet he sees all sorts of creatures when gets a sip too many out of that hip flask."<p>

"I am starting to see strange things too."

"All I see is few houses, a chapel, and a tavern. Apparently, what turns a settlement into a real village in these parts is a sacral object and a nice place to get drunk and get some material for a decent confession."  
>He smirked shaking the hay off. "And a graveyard, of course, can't do without that."<p>

She hoped it would be a peaceful place tonight, having had more than enough curious stares from the local «merry crowds», hating it and asking herself why they do that.  
>As if a woman were an exhibit they have to rate and measure, almost punishing her for the fact that they'll never be allowed. And right now she would rather sleep out in the open then tolerate that again.<p>

* * *

><p>They were lucky, there was one of the smaller properties by the road that led to the village.<br>It meant less interfering with people.  
>Then again, it only takes that one somebody to make you feel miserable, doesn't it?<br>The owner would let them stay in the hay barn, though his wife seemed to have a problem with that. They could hear her ranting outside: "His sister?! More like they are looking for a place to rustle around. And did you see him? I wonder at what cost."  
>- "He payed us, so keep quiet and stay away! They'll be gone by the morning."<p>

Every word stung. Isabelle was filled with embarrassment to her very core. But the anger within was burning as well. Cheeks in shades of red, she climbed up the ladder to find some nice corner. The daylight was disappearing behind the horizon.  
>As if the light could possibly protect a woman from a man, she knew how naive such presumption would be.<br>Yet, something about darkness made her want a shelter. She never thought she'd miss the walls.

Erik was boiling inside. What made it even worse, he knew that this is exactly what people would always think: that he cannot have anything other - not a bit more than an overpaid encounter with a woman desperate enough to be able to keep her eyes closed for a few minutes. That any woman in his company would be labeled as such. And that is the picture this woman dared to put Isabelle in.  
>It was his fault, he decided. What else could he have expect from the world?<br>He couldn't just go outside and take it out on human race, though he'd love to teach them lessons. He had gotten used to it in a way, though he'd never accept it. He still had some pride left. But he felt like he owned that girl a damn good compensation for stoically enduring this.

Her voice from up above jerked him out of his thoughts. "They placed all the fresh hay up here. It smells lovely."

"Then you have pulled out a better set of cards, there is nothing smelling lovely down here."

She thought hard for a few moments, feeling guilty for leaving him down there with the animals, and probably rats and muck.  
>One does not leave a friend in the gutter, at least that is how it should be.<br>First she thought she would never dare, then something began pounding at her conscience and it finally took her a lot of courage to say it out all in one breath: "Then come up here, there is plenty of room."  
>Maybe it was only her subjectiveness but it sounded as if she was saying out her own sentence - the conviction, as if it were about someone else.<br>There was no taking it back now, too late for regrets.

Maybe she was just being nice and he was supposed to politely turn the offer down. Like a gentleman would, with manly pride. But an animal he was not, a beast he would not be, and up there seemed to be a place for a human being. Perhaps there was place for Erik.  
>Climbing up, uncertain, his head peered through the opening. "Are you sure? I don't want to intrude." <em>And if you only knew...<em>

She already started nestling in and building a small wall with piles of hay to keep her little personal space out of sight. "Well, if you stay down there, those two cows will not be happy and will probably make just as much noise as if..." She didn't finish, not wanting to complain. People complain too much, it was her common opinion. A reasonable excuse should do, hopefully.

He placed a few piles on the top and now it turned into a decent barrier. As she handed them up, he noticed a trace on the inner side of her arm, barely visible in a light rosy hue. The shade of her rolled sleeve hid the thin marks almost instantly as she reached down for more hay.  
>He pretended not to have seen it, yet - thinking of struggle among many other things.<p>

One wall seemed to be enough for her, how strange. Only several days ago she would have been building a labyrinth all around herself. Trust had fragile boundaries.  
>It wouldn't matter much in either case, her only way towards the exit was cut with his presence, she was aware of the situation.<br>Was this a «pat position?»  
>She tried to recall the basics of chess her father had taught her a long time ago. <em>No escape<em>, that would be it.

With consideration, he settled by a wall, a proper distance from her.  
>Away, always away from others, especially womankind. As if he'd dare ever again...<p>

Adjusting his sack to serve as a pillow for the night, wanting to tear his shirt off, the circumstances demanded he would sleep in his clothes and hope that the heat would mild down. There was some rustling coming from her side of the wall. He couldn't see her but from the sound he presumed that it must be from her clothing.  
>Right then, right there.<br>As a phantom, he had _seen_, it had been almost impossible to avoid it sometimes, even when he had no intention on lurking, such things came almost as normal. Though nothing seemed normal when in such despair.  
>When all his focus had turned to his blossoming student, and been graced with a sight on the other side of the mirror, the appeal was incomparable, even when he knew that it was wrong and couldn't help it. So he watched and dreamed of what reality would never give.<p>

He felt so empty for months now, nothing in the world could make him believe that he could be stirred towards some kind of attraction or affection. Not after all that pain.

The one person to put her trust in him could sleep without a worry, he would not betray it. Yet, one thought couldn't get out of his head:  
>She is so... <em>close.<em>

Irrelevant, perhaps. Significant to him.

Female instinct had never worked in his favor.  
>This sort of trust was something he didn't know how to deal with. Just let it be, while it was still there.<p>

He was just a man, even though some may have dared to doubt that.  
>Not just obvious facts make a man. There are needs and deeds and his own have often lead an inner battle.<p>

Shouldn't it count in favor of manliness that one is able to keep from the deed? All the times he kept at bay seemed to prove him wrong.

And the other thing that they consider a trait of a man, be it in novels, opera, real life, that ever praised ability to fight and conquer, and even kill – none of that would they acknowledge once _he_ went through with it.

For all the rest, he was never a man, only a creature. But even those can be hurt beyond imagination.  
>He wouldn't dare to touch, but his thoughts dared to focus, something fought persistently within him. <em>For some reason, she trusts you. You are a disgrace. Keep your mind on something else. <em>And he did. It was a compromise. He was thinking about those marks and someone else's words. _Who could have done that to her?_

Every sense of hers was strained as she loosened the ties of her dress, making herself more comfortable. Knowing that he's near, she felt vulnerable, listening to every sound. The tension passed as there was no sign of movement. She curled up. Moments were dragging too slowly, just like they always do when you're vulnerable.

Silence. They have talked while on the road, be it little things or not, they have _talked_ and even when there would be silence, it would not be uncomfortable at all. This was different, they have barely said a few words since they came in. _It is almost too quiet. Has he fallen asleep already?_

It was frustrating not to know. Unable to stand uncertainty, feeling exposed in a delicate situation, she simply needed to know. It would give her just a little control.

She moved slowly, carefully, without a sound, changing her position a little so she could take a peek through the little space left between the real wall and an improvised one. The darkness hid her. A gleam revealed his position. Right between her and the ladder, but the sight of him calmed her down.  
>She finally understood that the way he arranged things was not to keep her cornered.<br>It was to block anyone else out. Things happen, people often can't be trusted and... Well, if someone would dare to enter, they'd have to deal with Erik first.  
>Something was telling her that a tall man like him wouldn't be easy to bear down.<br>It did feel kind of good, having a man to protect her. Josephine knew that very well. There was a reason for this.

His back leaned against the wall, half stretching, one of his legs bent. The shadows playing a game, lingering on every crevice of the damaged side of his face. She still wondered of the cause.  
>He was still but clearly awake, just staring at nothing in particular. Then shifting a bit, his hand traveled to his belt and reached lower.<br>All at once, memory of girls giggling, and later of Josephines jokes came storming into her head. The next thing that came in a rush was a massive impact of self-reproaching and embarrassment for such presumption.  
>He pulled something out of his pocket and opened it up. A small round object shining weakly under the moonlight.<p>

A ring.

His fingers were tossing and studying it's shape, while his mind was clearly elsewhere.  
>Then his fist caged around it and thumped against his forehead once - twice, and kept there near some troubled thoughts.<br>She felt like having intruded something personal. Returning to her nest, her mind formed an answer, the source of that sorrow which seemed to surround him like a dense cloud when she'd catch him alone and pensive. Now she knew his ache, it was in his heart.

* * *

><p>Late into the night, sleepless he span in a whirl of frustration. Recalling the words overheard earlier, comments which so easily marked him as an unworthy miserablé, a creature that deserves nothing more than a shallow carnal act with an easy woman made smooth with a more than decent layer of money. They would never even think of what made him swear off such ways.<p>

Long time ago, too long... Why deny it to himself?  
>Just as any young man, he wanted to know what it is like to have his heart speed up under the touch of a woman, to know what it's like to <em>feel <em>another body. He used to watch them, threatening to succumb.  
>But he had never dared to come close. Denied for too long, shunned by those who mattered, he never really took a chance with those who could be bought into a passion play.<p>

Afraid of women, someone shallow might say. Afraid of rejection more like it.

He wanted more than that. Perhaps it was not an ordinary thing when a lonely man in need was in question. He would gladly have used an opportunity if having been given a chance. Many would catch his eye every now and then, but he really wanted something else.

And he'd seen a lot. Once, long ago, when he had been young and those damp cellars wouldn't do for a youngster, he had set out, leaving an only friend behind. Travelling around, sometimes he managed to board onto a ship as an aide, discovering the world as far as the currents and opportunity would have carried him.

Arms of the world lay wide open but have never embraced him.

It wasn't easy, being different. Many employers would refuse to keep a man with persisting stubborness and the need to cover his face, but a skilled man was always wanted and he had been getting around for a long time. The hardest time back in the lands where flaws were connected with sin, where the mutilation was often considered to be a punishment. He could only imagine what they'd think if they were to see his face.  
>He hid behind many disguises. That, at least, was nothing new for him.<p>

Any facade, except his true face.

Constantly trying to adjust, he would never completely succeed. The curiosity would often pervade and the others could never just leave it be.  
>Sure, as everyone else, he had a weak point just waiting to be hit.<br>When men would fall to their vices, he wouldn't resist either. Except for one thing, a remarkable gap - almost the most unforgivable of all - his life never included women for pleasure. It would never take long for others to start noticing.  
>Once they'd figure it out, they wouldn't let it go, teasing, making comments behind his back or even asking him directly whether he was «unable» - which was a hundred times a sharper blow then when they'd label him as one whose interest wasn't in women but «otherwise».<br>He tried to ignore them, keeping for himself. But it was just too hard _not_ to bring upon himself the distaste and malevolence of some of the men. Ignoring only made them more audacious. What also made them hate him was that hard-bitten way of refusing to reveal his affliction, and then that habit of being a loner, secluded yet knowing a lot about others.

A recluse yes, but the one who held the strings in his own hands.  
>Achieving influence, almost an inevitable thing for a man like him who liked to be in power, would usually be the nail in his coffin of detachment. Not that he missed people.<p>

Yet, he had yearned for someone.

But once it could have been different... Once after a work done in Venice, when they were rewarded with a free night and joined a feast that continued on the streets that came to life.  
>Venice never lacked of beauty. Even if there was not much beauty, they'd invent it, adornish, decorate, polish, lace, paint... Carnivals, masks, wine, women, gamble, love for life...<p>

Beauty unbridled and licentious under the calm surface. So many various disguises available!

_Music_, a lot of fine music... As though he had discovered a whole new world where he could seemingly blend in. Anyone could choose a masque, anyone could become someone, something other...

The pieces of the puzzle which made that night would never be put into a clear picture. But he remembered too much to fully comprehend even now. Was it all just a lie or was there something veritable about it, after all? He wanted to believe that at least a part of it had been true... That part when they had just begun their little game of illusions.

That evening he had gambled, amongst fellow shipmen, all faceless under masks, just like him, and he had read the giveaway signs so easily. He had been winning, ripping them off, tit for tat, his mastery in revenge for all the despise!  
>With his prize, pockets full, drunken and floating in the river of masks, he was shoaling along with the crowd. It would be nice, he remembered thinking, living there, just as anyone else...<br>Where masks are normal so women needen't be blinded with pretense of beauty or normalcy! Where he could easily blind them with money and power, things which could give him a face, even if figuratively.

A disguised yet stunning dark haired temptress had caught his attention, loitering around, closer and further, but always somewhere near.  
>One of many who had been there with intent.<br>From her glances he could have sworn that she was interested in something about him, even if it was only the mystery that intrigued her. Already having refused another fellow right there in front of his very eyes, then another one, she danced in the mob around him, swaying and glancing. It felt like she was dancing for him.

They can tell where one is in power, he mused, they sense it.

Winners are wanted, vanquishers get it all. If nothing, they can buy it.

And he was precisely one of those. He didn't care, or better, most of him didn't care about that detail, as he realized that he _was_ just another mask. It felt good, being the mystery alone, and without the horror. A target of a sort in this game of deceivement.

Not much more unusual than any other, a mask which served not to hide a disfigurement but an identity, allowing the person to venture into world of otherwise illicit pleasures.  
>The drums beating all around him, the music... Had it not been for the music spurring him on, it wouldn't have been the same. He spoke through music, and those drums might have had just as well been beating from within him.<p>

The very incentive, the spur, the turnover must have been in that, those restless drums and the music!

A trigger inside him went off.

Never even seeing her true face beneath the purple feather-ornated _colombina_, he was ready to follow the dark waves of her hair and that dancing body into the night.  
>She had whispered something into her friend's ear and kept leading him on with intent. He noticed for she made him notice.<br>More blur, the wine, the smoke, the impulse... So much music...

She had been seducing, he was sure. One masque luring the other:  
><em>«Come and play with me. Let me show you a secret, the one you're yearning to unfold. No one would ever know who we are or what we did... Join me.»<br>_Trying to sell him «love», a substitute for love more like it. Or perhaps just the closest thing to the matter that had been allowed to him. One touch of womanhood.

She was offering what he'd never dared to buy before. She seemed different, lively and youthful. _Seductive_ above all. Perhaps a kept woman searching for her own adventure behind her the back of her lover?  
>More than ready to believe it, he had been even more willing to accept a decent lie for a trade, if only that would have meant to finally unravel that world he wanted to enter...<p>

A lie for a lie, it was a fair deal.

With one glass of drink after the other, something courageous prevailed within him. With all that other intoxicating marvel in his blood... And music in his head!

For once, he wanted to feel like a man without anyone bringing it into question. He went after her through the night, under the city lights, through the joyful crowd, colliding with people that ceased to exist for him, shoving away the tide of masques. She led him to a strange place. A room inside. They didn't waste too much time on words, looks and gestures served them well.

Revealing his face had not been an option. Even if it meant never knowing her own face, only the seductive mystery of those dark eyes underneath her mask. Even if no kiss, his lips were not the part which ached the most. There was one sole basic rule in their game – masks stay on.

_If only for one night... one hour..._

What a première!  
>The mystery flared him up. It would be something to remember, his first woman surrounded by so many secrets, something adventurous, in a strange way dangerously romantic, something he'd only read or fantasize about.<p>

It was too damn easy to become infatuated by the illusion...

No names, they didn't need them, he already gave her one in his mind. For him, she could just as well be Hedone, perhaps she'd be real just for this one night and then vanish into a myth.

Her interest in the bracelet which he had won that evening was obvious, and here he thought how Fortune smiled upon him generously, twice in one night. He noticed how the deep purple hues of amethyst would suit her colombina very nicely.  
>Her eyes brightened at the sight of the jewels and he offered them with a charming movement, playing with the bracelet around his thick gloved fingers, teasing up her arms, behind her ear, down her jawline. She kissed the precious stones gingerly. But not his fingers.<br>His pupils have widened at the sight of her bosom peeking out as she unlaced the top of her bodice. Placing the bijou right next to the skin between her breasts, one end swaying on the outer side of the fabric, he noticed her pleased smile.

The price was settled.

And to think that in the ancient times that gemstone was believed to protect the owner from drunkness... Well it was apparently working in _her_ favour from the very start! Wondering along how his drunken body still obeyed him, he let her proficient fingers play with his buttons, but when they'd crawl up his neck alluringly and venture to his face, he didn't let them.  
>He could barely stand being <em>touched<em>.  
>Inspite of the inner limit of self control being dangerously weakened with wine and youthful eagerness, he reminded her of the only rule, allowing her fingers only to go lower again.<p>

He himself needed to touch, to be in control.  
>His own hands inexperienced and gawky running around her waist, turning her back to him, leaning her into him, wandering under her skirts, discovering the secrets between her legs, all that he was aching to reveal. He could, and she would, and he felt, and she let... and they were...<p>

No kisses, just those lustful hands. The sound of breathing ragged with excitement.

It had all happened too fast, he went into her driven with bold arousal.  
>Flesh against flesh, it was too much.<br>His need grew exponentially, ready to burst when finally discovering what it is like to feel a woman's body opening to him. Propping her against the wall, forgetting that velvet divan waiting for them just a meter away, lost in the rapture without realization, he could feel her, hear her, smell her...  
>A woman's nape, back, loins, warmth... Who could tell that the carnal could be so powerful?<br>He locked her in a grip as though he could sense that she might disappear just like that. She did not resist, caught between him and an upholstered wall, her nails digging into the leather, her slim back squirming and stretching against his body, her moan, it was all novelty to him.

In reality, it came down to a few inexperienced movements.

It couldn't have possibly lasted longer than it takes to get the first small bite... before it was cruelly torn away from him.

She stared back and in those dark eyes he could tell the change.  
>As though she knew, as though she could <em>see<em>.

With that look, his own flesh began failing within her, pulling away weak. How shameful for him, really. In one single moment everything stopped. As if the world stopped spinning. Far from exploding desire. He could swear that he had heard a voice as she abruptly pulled away from his grip. But it hadn't come from her.

In horror, he realised there was air whipping at his scarred face.

Somehow, in a moment of his weakness, she has managed to turn around, reach out and tear the mask from his face.  
>Why?! He was exposed! Frozen.<br>She gasped in a soundless scream, and all the adoration had turned into wrath and despise.

That succubus, an insidious bait alluring him to his fall! That little snake, sent not from Eros but from Tanathos himself! Why?!  
>He pinned her to the wall griping at that lying throat.<p>

He didn't have to look at the mirror to know what she'd just seen in him. He looked anyway, releasing the little serpent that squirmed away, down into the corner.  
>Furious, he caught a glimpse of someone standing at the door, appalled and sneering. The shipmen, the ones always provoking, bringing trouble, he had ran afoul of them for numerous reasons, but that evening he had simply humiliated them, ripped them off in an overfull gaming house! Their money, jewels, golden chains on wager, he walked away with it all.<br>So they'd humiliated him right back.  
>He - a faceless ugly mute impostor! An interloper whose major sin was the fact that he never allowed himself to yield before them and give way to their prying and query. Erik would <em>not<em> bow his head before anyone since the day he had left his cage. A realisation that this whole charade was their malicious arrangement came kicking hard at his head.  
>A conspiracy to take back what he took from them, and more - to rip off the things he hid behind – the power, the pride and his mask.<br>Well, plotting to see what this man really was, they released a demon! He attacked on instinct, pouring his rage in frantic blows, shoving one into the wall and suffocating the other beneath him. A sharp stroke in his ribs made him release his victim. He still fought to breathe in as he heard the sound of others coming.

Seeing _her_ trembling in the corner, he realised that she had been sent with a purpose, payed to reveal a monster. Mumbling words in some strange language he couldn't understand, she curled up on the floor, mute and wide-eyed. His mind heard someone else's words. A voice from his earliest memories, a voice he detested for some reason: _«Women are not to be trusted. You'll see, you're the living proof.»_

His pride hurt more than broken ribs.

"Now you'll never forget." It was the only thing he could force out in a hiss. That would be the punishment for the deceitful viper, now she'd always fear what's behind one's mask. He cursed it all and flew out never turning back.

Barely escaping alive from the mess, he left everything behind. Drowning in indignity and madness, wanting revenge but unable to do much about it, he hid until they sailed out. Never again did he use the name they knew him by nor embark on a ship ever since that night.

He was determined to disappear.

Having learned best is that he cannot afford himself to trust, he'd relinquish humanity.  
>Nevermore would he even think of allowing himself a moment of such weakness and stupidity with a woman, not a whore, not any woman that is not his to claim.<p>

No joys of the flesh shared with another being. Not only had he failed right before...  
>No. It was <em>forbidden<em> to him.  
>The pleasure of kissing a woman, undressing her, bringing her pleasure like any other man, he lived denied of it.<p>

Perhaps he even believed that he could not be a man any other way except when under his own hand.  
><em>It had been easy to be an angel and a ghost. Sex matters little when you're one of those. That way, it was not expected of you to be a man. And when you decided... it was too late.<em>

But he _wanted!_ Oh, how he still wanted!

Even many years later, the only joy he gave Christine was coming from unearthly music and a story of deceivement. And even that night in his lair, when he touched his entranced prey, he had set a limit. Though he rudely dared to feel her skin at first, when her nightgown had revealed the torn seam on her stockings in such a tantalizing way, he stopped right there, knowing that there would be no true pleasure, unless she wanted him.  
>As a woman wants a man.<p>

And her kiss, the only time in his life... That was the most painful part, not knowing how much of it was extorted and how much truly given.

He was to remain a loner, loveless and unfulfilled.

Slowly, he was coming to his senses. This were different times now.  
>Almost an another life, one of a wonderer. Still, a loner.<p>

Close to him, the girl was breathing slowly and steadily, the one that trusted him, the one of a whole different kind. Unaware, unprotected, unjudging.  
><em>She<em> perceived him as a man. But had she _sensed_ it?  
>That he is harmless, that his body <em>could<em> but he just somehow _cannot._  
>A man in all his manhood, but who doesn't know how to be a man when with a woman? Perhaps it didn't matter to her.<p>

He kept listening to the calming sound of her even breath, the soothing rythm slowly driving away that demon which caused the turmoil inside his head.


	10. Chapter 10

**Skin**

The Seine was running lazy and careless right in front of them, shimmering in blue tones, reflecting the green treetops and the sedge. Breathing in the fresh scent, Isabelle barely stopped herself from running forward. The water was inviting, offering itself shamelessly, promising a refreshing sensation. And in return, every sense longed for it so desperately like it never knew what the cool embrace of such a powerful force felt like. She felt an impulse of sharp pain somewhere along the way, a bush or some wild weed but she ignored it, kneeling on the shore. Her hands traveled under the surface, stirring the waves.

Coming to her side, he did notice. "You're bleeding."

At first she didn't seem to understand, looking confused by the remark, and then she saw a thin red trace creating tiny crimson drops along the thin cut on the side of her wrist. It glinted under the sunlight like a shattered ruby, the edges of a cut separated the thin layers of skin. "It's just a scratch, nothing more. It's just... skin."

_Just skin... _"It is easy for you to say that."_ So easy... _Sitting down on the bank, he muttered more to himself: "It is much more than just a shroud."

"I know." She would ask. After days of wondering, she saw an opportunity to bring it out. That woman's remarks and presumptions from last evening still echoed in her ears. And this morning she noticed that the blemish on his right side seemed more crude then before, like it was silently burning from inside.  
>"You must be very adept in self control." She washed the blood drops away, not noticing his gaze that followed her movements.<p>

_Not by far_. "Why do you think so?"

"With all the stares and the comments you get behind your back every day... It must be a challenge to keep your head up and give them a cold glare."

"It's harder than you know. I would love to return the favor to every single one of them. Sometimes I do."

Looking directly at him, she was forming a question. "Your face... I wondered. Was it scarred that badly or is there something other... that left you like this?"

_So you have noticed a demon beside you after all? And here, I thought you would never ask! At least you didn't turn it into a drama like everyone else._

Halfway, his hand stopped rising to that curse of a face in a protective habit. Damn, he ran out of that mixture, his only protection beside the hat, his shroud was burning under the sun. Slowly, he exhaled all the air he could force out from his lungs and with the same slow motion, he took a long breath in, studying her. Sure, it was just a matter of time when her curiosity would win. "Are you sure you really want to know that story?" This was a hiss rather than a question. A warning, even.

The one thing that he learned from all the kicks in life was to hit right back. And here he stopped for a moment. "There are things I would like to know too." His voice suddenly serious, almost offended, hurt hidden deep under the mask of an offer that sounded almost immoral, a deal with the devil. He was giving her a choice.  
>"A question in return for that answer. You dare to risk that?"<p>

She could swear that the ground underneath her shook at that instant. _You know something, I'm sure of that now. _And how disappointing it was to realize that the person who knew her secret might have told it to this man? She looked away._ Is it so harsh, that you have to assure yourself that you can return with the same weapon?_

He said nothing, just expecting. His eyes so unreadable, just like that first night, and those shivers down her spine, but she couldn't tell the primal source of it.

_You know too much already, aren't you pleased with that?_ By God, she hoped she would never have to talk about it again, though knowing that it was inevitable. But not with him! Not with a _man_! To give him an answer he already suspected or to refuse and confirm it with silence? And if he already knew, what would all the pretense serve for?

From the distance came the sound of a train, slithering like a snake, trying to lure her.  
>But the temptation was weak, only an idea. It could have been another choice, she could have avoided all of this and embark any day, he offered that solution out of courtesy the first day. Her pride wouldn't let her accept it. Heading faster, even though probably late and messing the schedule as usual, the snake was crawling away. It would still be a little too early for her.<br>She saw him looking at it as well. Then she looked at the road. She chose.

She nodded her head. What else? Backing away would mean defeat. He doesn't really see it coming, her «yes» to this one, she was quite sure of it. But she would be the one to draw the line and he would have to respect it. Her only comfort was that he would have the decency to keep it for himself. Not that he had anyone to share it with. "I'll take a chance." She wanted to know more. "Tell me."

How he hated this. The everlasting irony of his life. The torture of everything he knew, and even more, the fact that he did not know enough. "They said I was born deformed. Can you imagine that? The horror of a mother when they've put a screaming little monster into her arms claiming that this was what came out of her womb?"  
>In a mockery or in a sad try of holding back something far worse, he chuckled. It was him now, turning attention to the immense mass of water, avoiding her eyes. "She never treated me any better..."<p>

It was sad to listen to him as he referred to himself as a thing, a monster... Lifting her eyes to his face, his scarred profile, that was not what she saw. "Did she abandon you?"

"No. She didn't leave, she abandoned me in a way that is more cruel. By letting me know I was her curse. She was right there and still I didn't have a mother, only neglect. Sometimes it felt like I wasn't even there, like she didn't want me near. I ran away some time later. The rest of the world shared her opinion. I didn't exactly give them a reason to think otherwise. You were right about the scars too. Some just couldn't resist but to fix my appearance a little bit, just to reaffirm that there would be no doubt that I am nothing but a Devil's child."

_How could anyone do that to a child?_ "People can be so cruel."

"They would shun me away like a dirty dog. Lucky if getting away without being kicked."

"And yet, here you are. Alive, strong, healthy, you can move on."

"Can I, really? _This_ will never go away." It angered him, talking about his face.

"I shouldn't judge by what I see, but there are those which seem to be far worse. Men without arms and legs, without eyes, without a chance to crawl out of their misery... And many of them would rather have a disfigured face than their own misfortune."

"The difference is that no one tries to tear a bandage or an eyepatch to reveal what's underneath and gloat in disgust!" He may have sounded harsh but didn't care. She may just as well know now.  
>"When it comes with birth, they associate it with sickness or a curse, the more twisted and humiliating story, the better. And it's not better anywhere around the world that I've seen. In some lands, they'd look at me and all they'd see was a punishment for a sin."<p>

Between the lines she could read how much anger there still is kept within him, so much ire for every strike and lash.

"Do you think they would accept you if you were disfigured later in life?"

Hypocrisy, how she hated it! Mad men, bad men could be crowned as kings but children considered to be «flawed» by someone's distorted standard, or children of a weak intellect, though loving and kind at heart, they could so easily be shunned into corners, stables, streets...

As if he wouldn't hear, or care about the world, he was still picking on that old wound: "What abhorrent sin could I have committed as a child, so that my own mother couldn't care about me?"

As he stopped talking, he noticed that she sat by his side, staring into the river just like him. That urge she felt the other day - to simply hold his hand, has awaken again and slowly she offered her warm touch in a gesture of comfort. After the initial surprise, he accepted it, letting her palm rest on the back of his hand.  
>It felt strange, they have barely ever touched before. And it felt good. "Don't torture yourself with that. Sometimes there are far greater reasons. Nobody knows what's buried deep inside. And the truth is that the scars that remain on the soul are the worst."<p>

He wondered at which point she managed to turn this into a conversation, just when he was about to present himself in all his true colors, so hideous, so full of self-pity, anguish and despise to those who despise him, of resentment and bitterness. "Have you noticed how people avoid to look at the beggars or those without limbs? They flip a coin, or better, they send someone to do it instead, as if it would keep the affliction away from them. It's not that different. They either stare at me and then look away when they've had enough, or they don't even dare to look."

Knowing it was all true, she blamed it on people's ignorance and fear. "They don't know if, or how the same misfortune might affect any one of them. They prefer to pretend that such things don't happen and they can't stand the mere presence of a living proof of the opposite. The birth of a child is a great wonder by itself. my guess is, the awareness that things might take a turn out of their power and knowledge is downright frightening."

It was enough, the question was about his face, not his life's lament. He didn't even give her that pitiful monologue which he had used on Christine.

And here she was, just waiting.

Resigned, she anticipated. It was his turn. He has said it himself, he would love to get back with the same measure. And she knew it would pierce her straight into the core. A part of her wished he would just do it already, quickly and straight to the point, so she wouldn't have to endure this uncertainty. Her voice gave her away: "What is it that you wanted to know?"

The urge that grew inside of his mind was to dig out the hidden truth the only way he knew, bold and ruthless, to hold her hand and ask her about the hint which he had gotten from Josephine, to ask about those marks, her need to hide... Damn the urge driving him into this, the need to prevail, to manipulate, to have all the strings under his command... _How low would that be?_ A burn to the hand that held him with a true human touch.

A touch which he didn't want to break just yet. _Do you know how many times I just wanted to have someone by my side, like this? _

He did not have a clue how to bring out something that personal. Maybe he shouldn't, after all. They just sat there silently until he finally spoke.

"The scars on the soul that you talked about... There is much more to your unsettled matters, isn't it?"

Her hand pulled away, folding with the other one. She was closing away from him, it was more than obvious.

"Who harmed you, Isabelle?"

All her courage was crushing down, like a wall that couldn't stand it's own weight anymore. _Why?_ She gasped for breath, her burden growing too heavy to bear and now this man rocking everything out of it's balance. "How much do you know? What did she tell you?"

"She only gave me an indication. She said you've been _hurt_." He wasn't that dull, to misinterpret the meaning of that one.

The look she whipped him with was well known to him, a stare of a wounded animal. All she wanted to do at the moment was to hide someplace where no one could find her, curl up and not come out for a long, long time. Sadly, no hideout for her, unless she'd run into all that water. She stood up, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, walking to the river, not wanting to look into those ever-observing eyes right now. He _knew_ all along.

She was ashamed. Having lived with that inspite of knowing that the blame is not on her, she hated the feeling.  
>Honour, one particular evening she has asked him about his perception of the matter. It was not the same for men and women. When it came to a woman, too many people believed that honour primarily implied that one thing which she had been robbed of. That same kind of people would gossip behind a woman's back. Their own sins would stay unmentioned.<br>Once they spotted a victim, they wouldn't let her shame fall into oblivion. As though it didn't hurt enough already...

Perhaps he was right and it was all a game of pretense.

It was more a whisper than a voice. "It's true."

Suddenly it was not just her standing there. There were so many other stories... Too many! Out of all the works of art that whirled through his irrational mind for whatever insane reasons, always showing defenseless women in a sad try of escape, the thin fabric of their clothes fluttering around them, revealing them to the predator, serving more to catch the viewer's eye than to present the real picture - the torment. He called himself crazy for such comparisons.

What was it - embedded into humanity so deeply, that made them perpetuate such stories in art and turn them into legends, romanticizing it all? There was nothing beautiful, nothing romantic about it, he could see it so clearly now. That awoken conscience of his was teaching him a new lesson. And when in Hell did his world become so visual ?!

And he knew then, that if there were anyone who would truly want to depict the pain and anguish, all they would have to do is to take a good look into the eyes of a victim.  
>It'was not just about rape, he wondered what it was, so strong in the concept of chastity, and what was that string so insidiously bonding sexuality and death?<p>

Once he had thought himself to be somewhat like Hades, but what about his Persephone? What would have happened if he hadn't let her go? His living bride, it was maddening to think of it... Would he have been capable of such cruelty? It was frightening to realize that he doesn't know the answer.

That fateful night, the Phantom was pushed over all limits. An illusion had been on it's way down to a tragedy. Erik couldn't trust the Ghost that he used to be.

But he was here now, a man.

Isabelle was real, she was very much alive. Hurt, vulnerabile, human, but alive. And he was glad to see her standing upstraight, defiantly refusing to be destroyed by the pain inflicted on her.

It seemed cruel to have asked her about it, he realized that now. Throughout his entire life, he seemed to be insensate to other people's emotions, but this time it was too hard to ignore. Cursing himself for not knowing the right way with humankind, he softened his voice. "Who did that to you?"

He followed to where she stood. Even from behind he could see how she was about to break, her head down, her body tense.

She could sense him behind her back. "Don't stare at me! Don't you see how degrading it is?"

"I'm sorry, Isabelle..." _It is never just skin, it is never just a body..._ And he realized that she knows. It must have been something sacred to her, just as his own body was not even nearly such to him.

Aware that he has gone way too far already but still...

He felt a strong urge to shield her.

He never really learned how. It was something meant for other people, something he hadn't participated in. He just stood there, right behind her for some time until his hand found the way to her shoulder by it's own will, only a light touch and the girl flinched a little, she trembled but didn't pull away, he could almost sense that she closed her eyes tight at that same moment. She didn't want to let her tears fall but they forced their way out and then she only wanted to hide.  
>Turning around, she found herself facing the wall of his chest. At once it seemed that she would have to back away or walk around him if she was to avoid his presence.<p>

He was too close.

Somehow, neither knew how, she leaned into him, just a little. A strange pull from within, an instinct led into this. Uncertain, his hand on her arm drew her just a little bit closer where she could lean her head, so timid, yet curious or brave enough not to run away. The other arm not knowing where to go for it wasn't used to holding someone this way, came to rest somewhere on her shoulderblade, feeling that red silk falling all around. Isabelle found herself hidden, surrounded by this strange man who pushed her to this point and now stood here to keep her from falling into pieces, away from the world's eyes even though there wasn't anyone besides the two of them.

She wished for a rock a few minutes earlier.

He made a good rock.

But he was a man.

Aside with «inappropriate», it felt weird confessing it to a _man_.  
>And yet, this one seemed to be of some different kind.<p>

A man of contradiction. Crafty hands, surely, but the arms hugged awkwardly.

But at least for a while it seemed alright, she would not make a sound of protest as long as it stayed that way.

Once he held her, he knew it wouldn't be simple to let go. A contact like this was new to him, this was not that manner of luring, not a violent grip, not anything that he had done before, only a moment of consolation. Unused to it, he stood there buried into the ground like a tree, not knowing what to do. And even as they slowly parted, the strange stream of warmth still flowing between them felt so good.

It took her a little time to gather around. She hardly cared of what he knew anymore, it would hurt either way. The name which she couldn't speak out without the anguish revealing. Along with it came the man's image, a tide of loathing and despise. There was also the shame of having been a victim that held her back, smothering her, and she didn't want to reveal anything more.

No details, no sobs, but the tears she could not keep from running so she kept looking into the distance.

They sat surrounded by the tall grass like two children spending their youth in games of hiding.

It was clear even to someone like him: this was a moment when he must keep patient. He could wait.  
>All in all, she didn't say much, not in words.<br>Even then, he kept listening for a while. Josephine had been right, if he wanted to _hear_ her, he must learn to listen to her silence.

"What will you do now?"

"I don't know." She had thought about it many times, over and over again. In the end, she knew there was nothing that she could hold on to, no certainty in anything. But she would chase that man away from the people she cared about.

"You want him to pay." This was not even a question, it was something implied. There was too much damage done and probably anyone in her place would want to pursue vengeance.

"Yes." Her manner, her voice, everything turned cold along with that one word.

There was nothing he could do, nothing sane he could think of. One thing that came to his mind was something he never wanted to do again. Something he couldn't do any more, or at least he thought so. And it came out too damn easy:

"Do you want him dead?"

"No!" It was sudden, sharp, determined. Calming herself, she looked into his eyes for the first time since they've started talking about it. "No. Not anymore."

That was something he couldn't understand, no matter how hard he tried. "Why?"

"My pain is alive, Erik. It will not disappear with his demise, sometimes it seems that it has a life of it's own. I don't want to carry the burden of his death, he is not worth of that. It was his crime but _I_ am the one who payed the price."

"No, I want to see him crawling in the dirt. I want him to know what it feels like, to recognize the pain. He had stolen my life, not just my... chastity."

_And yet, there seems to be so much innocence about you... _It was cruel injustice, that was clear even to him. In some other parts of the world, it wouldn't have mattered that she had been the victim and perhaps her fate would have been even more unfortunate.

Don't they know that innocence is within one's heart?

The way she said to have felt... He could remember his cage, that filth, rags, stench, hunger, blows... The scorn and mockery aimed at him. There was nothing he could have done to stop it. And still, he was the one who has been ashamed of his face and the filth and all those things that others have done to him.

He was ashamed of being a victim.

He watched her fingers as they kept playing with a blade of grass, exploring the sharp edge just like the one that has cut her skin before. Carefully, she found the way to wrap it around her fingertip, conquering the enemy without getting hurt again. That was the art of survival, rising above the pain. He couldn't help but wonder about that girl more and more with every new realization.

Dishonoured? No. Not if looking through his eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

**Wet **

There was immense water spilling all around. More, more, no end to it.  
>Silence, such a suffocating silence.<br>All he could hear was his heart pounding wildly, like a worn out prisoner going insane within his ribcage.  
>Tired of fighting, a drowning man, so incredibly tired he was.<br>The sound of flow made no sense for the water was still, it's oily surface serene and glittering.  
>Such tranquility... Such powerful currents underneath, tossing him - a castaway.<p>

She was there too, on the shore, sitting by the water, all wet, her long hair drying in unnatural speed. Covered with nothing more than a strange simple white dress - was it antique, he thought, revealing her shoulders, soaked, adhering to the shape of her body. Her fair skin glowing in that golden hue of the sunset. He was not supposed to see this. As she looked back, he knew that he was discovered. She didn't say a single word.

Her wrists were bound together, only now did he see. He couldn't keep his eyes away from the knot.

Unimaginable sadness in the depth of her eyes. He couldn't move a finger.

Though there was no rope restraining him, it was his hands which have truly been tied. There was nothing he could do.

And that was all that remained of the last night's dream, nothing else that he could remember clearly. He could still hear the water. Only now, did he begin to realize that the sound was coming from the other side, through the thin wall. _So you dream of her now as well? Driving yourself insane again, aren't you?  
><em>That mocking inner voice would not go away easily. He had never believed in symbolism of dreams.  
>The worst thing was that it spoke of the truth. <em>And why does it bother you, such things used to be of no significance, sometime back. <em>

* * *

><p>The burden seemed lighter once her secret has been out.<br>At first she thought that she wouldn't be able to look into his eyes, afraid to find whatever might be reflecting there. The thing that she used to dread was not a weak spot anymore.  
>There was confidence growing. He did not change his attitude towards her, neither did he bring the subject up. However, he did seem to become a little more defending, like an older brother. But one does not dream of a brother as a shadow which comes knocking at your door.<p>

_It was just a dream._

She sank under the surface, pretending that she couldn't hear her own thoughts under the water. The bathtub was small, though a hot bath in a nice inn felt like a royal treatment after days of getting around. She wished she could stay in there until she dissolves and becomes a part of it.  
>It would be nice... to float, to let yourself go and allow the waves and the tides to carry you away, maybe somewhere warm, distant...<p>

_A dream with no special meaning. _

But her human form demanded that she comes out and starts breathing again.

_And admit it, on some level, it even intrigued you._

Wiping the cascading streams from her face, her hands continued their path in a tandem slowly down her neck, tracing the curves of her chest, moving down her waist, and lower yet, gently gliding down her hips, as far as they could reach. Hesitating at first, they ventured back up caressing the smoothness of her thighs and in between, until there was nowhere to go but one hidden place... waiting... shy... _daring_?

And it was inviting, even though it was «wrong» or maybe exactly because it was supposed to be so.  
>Who could tell her that it is wrong, now? No one would know...<br>No one had that right, it was _her_ body.  
>There was just her... and the water.<br>It was good.  
>It was all her.<br>So she dared to linger there in a long caress, then another one – longer and firmer, each that followed became more daring, encouraged, aware of every touch, just feeling a waking sensation, stirring enough to keep it, nothing more.

_All in all, at least it wasn't one of those nights.  
><em>And then, she shied away. Wrapping herself in a towel, she came out way too careful not to step on a line or a crack that mottled the tiled bathroom floor.  
>She knew it was silly but she liked to control such irrelevant things.<p>

_Leave it all behind._

"It is just another step." The tiles were cold under her wet feet and she had to make a move. At once, she didn't want the need for control to rule her. _Move on._ Walking away, she was outdaring herself, deliberately stepping on lines that came in her way back into the room. _There! Are the foundations crushing, are the walls tumbling down? No._

* * *

><p>"It is only a matter of how fast we'll go, you might be in Cleón tommorrow night or the day after." Josephine would have liked that, surely. Just as the woman said, no harm done if it takes a day longer. What was the woman thinking? Either way, they've lost an afternoon when that boy along the way has had his sacks of grain tumbling off the cartwheel. Of course he didn't know why he should bother with it. But the kind girl would have done it herself, so he helped the boy. And then they lost this morning. Neither seemed to be in a rush to leave today.<p>

"After all this time, I think I can wait another night." The truth is, she wanted to wait a little while longer. The past days seemed to have fled before her eyes and somehow she felt unprepared. And now she knew what he had meant to say when he spoke of hesitating and taking a different turn on the road.

There was more.  
>The landscape looked familiar to her, like she had been here sometime before. She might have been, this was very close. On the old path by the woods, she was becoming more sure of it. And it filled her with trepidation when she realized that she was this close, too close to that place.<em><br>_The weather wasn't promising anything good, another thunderstorm. The summer wasn't lacking of them. Thick dark clouds seemed like a heavy burden that would come crushing down from the sky, ripping the air with the force of their lightnings.

"Can we, please, stop somewhere?"

He looked at her in surprise, she never had any requests of that sort, always the silent and patient one. This was something new coming from her, but she was right, they needed to find a dry place to hide. "The storm is coming, isn't it?"

_You can't even imagine. _

The rain started falling so they didn't have much time to choose. They found their shelter in a small house by a nameless wild little stream. No one answered the knocks, so he took a peek through the shutters. The place was empty. Examining the lock on the door which served more like a symbolic barrier than a real one, he started working on it. He didn't seem to have a problem with allowing himself inside.

_A thief and a burglar... «un aventurier»... _And she was an accomplice. In a strange way, it was thrilling. She could forefeel that once they go separate ways, there would probably be no chance for her to taste an adventure like this one.

"You seem to have practice on the matter." It looked like he had done such things before, knowing exactly where to find the right spot. But she shunned the moral dilemma away as she was getting wet more and more. This was something worth memorizing.

"Mhm." Amused, he confirmed but he didn't give away the secret.

They went inside, examining every corner of their newly won territory. Inside, there was not much: a rocky bench, a table, a cupboard, a dismantled wooden frame in the corner of the only other room as a remnant of a bed and a few other things. A fireplace as well, but there was no firewood. If that place had been aloof before, now it was simply abandoned and isolated.

"What do we do now?"

"Wait for the rain to stop. But I think we're stuck here for the night."

Both of them were soaking wet.

She went into the other room to change her clothes while he used her absence to do the same. After some fumbling with the skirts, letting her hair fall free to dry and deciding that she preferred to be warm and comfortable, she came out wearing trousers.  
>Somehow that put him in a good mood, it gave a final touch to that daring and impertinent part of the girl's personality. <em>She is not a girl. You're not blind.<em>

The sky was completely concealed with the clouds that banned the weakening sunlight to push through. She pulled a candle out of her bag, lit it up and placed it on the massive table.

He had another idea. "Something for warming up? I know what would do a better work." Thinking of what he has just blurted out, he explained: "That bottle of wine we've got is still unopened..."

"You mean, the one you have stolen_?_" She tried to make it sound like scolding but the truth was that she found the little incident with a young worker very funny. And it helped, she would rather think of that than another thing that refused to leave her mind.

"It was a fair payback. He was flirting with you shamelessly."

"He was a boy, not even twenty years of age. And a clumsy one. You scared him to death."

Actually, more like he sneaked from behind on purpose, frustrated by the fact that the boy, yet another insolent boy, had the nerve to treat her as if she were a common country girl. So he shocked him just a little. The boy hasn't even seen his face, until he made him turn around by placing a firm hand on his shoulder with a deep strict voice that demanded an apology to the lady.  
>Erik all but called her <em>his<em> lady, having to remind himself that they were supposed siblings.  
>Either way, the boy would think twice before whistling after girls while carrying fragile cargo in those clumsy arms.<p>

"Well, next time he won't be impolite with ladies. Besides, he dropped down the whole box, so one bottle will hardly be missed." He took it out of his sack. "Among all the domestic sorts... It is imported, look!"

He examined the etiquette with a thievish grin. "It's _Isabella!_"

"How befitting, don't you think _Isabelle_?" With a sly smile, he was accentuated her name, it was impossible not to notice what he was hinting at. "And it rolled away from the mess almost untouched. See? It was _destined_ to end up in our hands."

She gave in. There were no glasses but she found little ceramic mugs in the other room, they probably used to serve for decoration. Whoever had left this place, they didn't care to take such little things with them.

Some time later, she wondered what a powerful effect a little wine has left on her, she hadn't tried any for a long time. Her cheeks were burning and she could only imagine how intensively she must be blushing, secretly thanking for the dimmed light of that one single candle.

Either the temperature in the room has risen or the heat came from her own core, but the last thing she cared about was the wind that penetrated through every crack that could be found.

The lightnings were ripping the sky apart, followed by a raging thunderous sound.

He marvelled at the thought that she hasn't flinched even once, a little strange for a gracile creature like her. "I've seen both women and men, who would jump out of their skin if they were to be caught in a storm out in the middle of nowhere... You are most definitely not one of them."

"No." It sounded dreamy. "Somehow, such things have always fascinated me. A raging nature. I could just sit here watching and listening for hours..."

"Nature's very own music. We can only admire the power so much greater than us. But fear and fascination do not always exclude one another."

"Fear is unpredictable. There are no rules to follow that matter."

"What are you afraid of, then?"

_Men. And their cruelty, to begin with. But that is probably not what you were aiming for. _Wondering if she should even tell him about that other thing, she giggled. The sweet wine inside her had spoken before he could stop herself. "Spiders."

The bite of an apple he has started nearly stuck in his throat, his shoulders shaking.  
>He was laughing and she noticed that he hadn't done it so freely ever before.<p>

_Isabella, _the deceitful sweet liquor, must have unhindered him as well.

"Spiders? Really? You of all people... You know, the woods are full of them. And so are the barns, and pretty much anywhere we were roaming about these days... Why?" He poured some more wine for her.

"Because... they have eight legs." The tipsyness seemed to win over as she blurted the nonsense out. But it only pushed her into explaining. "They can turn in any direction, and you never know where they might run. You can shake them off but you never know where they will end up. And just when you think that you are free, they are _clinging_ somewhere on you..."

"Well that is pretty much like a lot of things in life... Which one might try to get rid of." This was definitely not just about eight-legged creatures anymore, not for either one of them.

"Then you understand."

He knew it well. But he wouldn't spend the evening thinking of serious matters, there were too many and even he knew that sometimes it was for the best to leave them alone. Unable to help it, he felt like laughing. "Yes. But eight legs? That is just... horrible."

* * *

><p>He woke up later at night. No other light except for the candle and moonshine that came through the clouds.<br>Silence.  
>The rain must have stopped while he dozed off leaning his head on the wall. Only a murmur of the water came from the outside. She was not in the room, he was alone. Before he knew it, he called out for her with a hoarse whisper.<br>"Isabelle?" Nothing. _Maybe she is sleeping in the other room..._  
>A nature's call demanded a little walk outside. As he was done, he looked about. All around, his senses took in a sight enriched with that mystic nocturnal appeal.<p>

The path of plain wide stone led to the broken old wheel on the water which did not resist the ravages of time, only a shape of what once must have been a firm evidence to the power of nature and human inventiveness. All in shades of black and blue under the veil of night. The scent of rain all around.  
>And she was there too. Sitting by the water, unmoving, with her knees drawn to her chest. <em>Haven't I seen a scene like this before?<em>

She heard his steps from afar, yet didn't bother to turn around until he came closer, observing. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, it's just... I couldn't sleep. And it is so peaceful out here..." Then she shifted into a more proper position. _Propriety? You are outside in the middle of the night all alone with a man you barely know._

"It really is." He allowed himself to sit down.

"Sometimes I really wish to stay at some place like this for a long time."

"Alone?"

The only response she gave was shrugging her shoulders.

"Loneliness would be hard. It can drive one insane." He was a fine example of that.

"Are you lonely, Erik?" Asking it so openly would have seemed to be unimaginable only a few days before. Now... It looked like she already knew the answer.

"I am used to loneliness. It has always been a part of my life." It was that tone again, so resigned, always _resigned_.

The wine still ran through her blood, expressing what she felt. She knew what he meant. "The sad thing is, you could have a whole crowd of people around you and still feel all alone in the world."

"You have someone to return to, a family. And you will have your own someday."

For a second it seemed like she just might laugh at the possibility. "I am not so sure. Usually something like that requires a marriage."

"Don't you want it?"

She swallowed her pride, not knowing why it has even been there in the first place.

"Earlier, you asked me what my fear is. I fear to become someone's property. That I learned watching others. Like my mother. Times change, laws change but the what's carved in deeply is hard to alter. I don't want to replace one set of walls with another one."

"You are right. It would be a real shame to keep you restrained by some fool."

_If only things were so simple._ She let it out before she knew it.

"And then there is more. No man really wants to marry _«damaged goods»_."  
>Regretting, she swore that she'd never let wine unravel her tongue again.<p>

"Why do you say that? That was not your fault."

"But it did happen." The sound of her voice gave away the repressed pain underneath. Unaware of the movement, she pulled her knees closer and wrapped her arms around, just like before, like a sad child.  
>"Even if I leave it behind, there will always be those who would pity me, or think of me as a choice less secure, weakened, because someone has done something vile to me a long time ago."<p>

It was not just a matter of her body, the more she thought of it, the more she believed that the hurt imbued her entire being and perhaps she could never cope with life expected from a bride, a woman, things that she feared.

"Any man must consider himself truly lucky if he were to have you beside him." He looked somewhere down, into the water, as though he had no right to say such things to a woman. Had he ever told one that she's beautiful? Had he ever told one anything a man should say? No, he never had a place in that world.  
>If not since the day when she had confessed her hurt, now he knew for certain: If winning a woman's affection was anything like climbing a mountain, with Isabelle it would mean having to crawl out of an underground labyrinth first, only to see what awaits further on.<p>

"And why is there no one by your side?"

"Maybe I don't deserve it."

"Because of this?" Her hand went to his face, her tender caress touched his ruined cheek for a long moment.  
>She did it in a sisterly manner or perhaps a little more than that, gliding from his mangled eyebrow down to the cheekbone. Using her knuckles all the way, the skin was a little less sensitive there, not as direct as an open palm, but there was warmth in it nonetheless.<br>He needed warmth.

"You don't know how strange this is... My whole life a touch had meant nothing good. And here you act like I was just like anyone else. It is too damn easy to get used to this..." He relished the sensation until the cruel reality came back to him. "There have been too many wrong, terrible things. If you only knew... you would shun me away."

"Someone left you broken. That I do understand." Perhaps she liked that he's so reserved. In some way.

"You know about scars. Both the invisible ones just as those carved into flesh."

She realized where he was looking at, her sleeve covered it but her other hand still went there. "That is a reminder of another story. Whatever you might be thinking, you are surely wrong. An accident or an escapade might suit best. But let's leave it at that."

An escapade? She said it in such way as if it were battlescars from childhood games. He wouldn't insist, perhaps he had been wrong. There was always tomorrow. "The night is too beautiful to end it with such stories. Let's go inside, shall we?"

He offered a hand to help her stand up. She took it. A simple touch. She accepted it, but then, suddenly, she didn't move.

"Actually, I would like to sit out here a little while longer... I can't sleep."

For a moment, neither one of them made an attempt to break the contact.

"Do you want me to keep you company?" It's nice to have a friend, he thought.

She nodded as he sat by her side silently, having learned that sometimes silence can speak more than words.


	12. Chapter 12

**All that comes with a kiss**

Leisurely preparing to leave their shelter, he noticed her touch that medallion once again. It made him wonder whether it is a conscious doing or a habit she wasn't aware of. She had been doing that from time to time, often when she'd get lost in her thoughts.  
>"Does it have a special meaning?" He watched as her fingers traveled absently to brush the pendant hanging on the thin chain.<p>

It made her look down to her chest as well. "Not in the usual way... I've got it from one of the sisters. It's Mary Magdalene."

"The repentant sinner?"

"Well... They have marked her as «full of all vices» but no one ever showed us her side of the story."

"You think it would've made much difference?" Everyone had their side of the story, even himself - not that it mattered much to the judging mass.

"It is unfair in a way. I am fond to believe that she had never wanted that kind of life, that the circumstances had led her into it. But she had risen above it. I've met a few girls who had no real choice. And people... they shun them away so easily. They never ask, never hear them out."

"And you would listen?"

"It's not easy to let it out. Then again, not everything is in the words. It must mean something, when someone listens, doesn't it? Even if not directly."

"Nevertheless, they would still be shunned by others." The bitterness in his words, nothing unusual about it.

"What's the matter?"

"Do you think... That there could ever be true forgiveness for a great sinner?"

"If it is true, then she is the one who symbolizes redemption. There are plenty of others too."

"I meant... For something far more vicious."

"Like what?"

_Terror and the hurt that I caused._ His face reflected a complex mixture. Sadness, discomfort, even loathing. He forced himself into saying it out. "Taking what shouldn't have been taken by one's hand..."

Shivers rose in her spine. Maybe now she could hear it in his words, if not before. And he himself had given implication... She contemplated silently, letting it out slowly in a low serious voice: "You have done something terrible, haven't you?"

He noticed her studying him, waiting, calculating. He could lie, he could say anything to make him seem less guilty but none of it came out. He sighed, closing his eyes tight, buying himself time before letting it out:  
>"... Taking a life."<p>

Her mind went wild, the loudest thought ordering her to escape. She stood up but did nothing more, not even a move for a while. What would be the point? He could catch her in a blink of an eye if only he would want to. Still, it was hard to believe it. Yes, he had lied before, he was not an angel by any means but she never thought that it would come to this. "Why are you telling me this?!"

"I don't know. I need to let it out."

"Don't be selfish! Why me? All of the sudden!" Who in their right mind would put this burden on one's back for no reason?

"Because you know me, even when you...don't." Did it make any sense? He was about to lose a friend for presenting himself as he is. But he wanted her to know. "Because you listen."

Could she close her eyes and seal her ears now? Turn her back on fear of knowing? It was irreversible, she was bound to listen now. "Why did you do it?"

"It is an ugly story." The undertone gave away only one thing, he didn't really want to talk about it. But there was no turning back now, only waiting for some impact from the sky to strike down on him and end it then and there. It never came.

"That is not an excuse." She wouldn't let it pass, not now when he just said it out loud. This man in front of her, the one man she came to trust! Why? And why did he say it now when he could have kept it for himself, leaving her in blissful ignorance? She would have remembered him the way she came to know him.  
>But would it even be <em>real<em> him? Or just an illusion?

She didn't want deception. Even if it hurt. But the man who sat by her side last night, the man who had been suffering, the man who would look at her with the same eyes even when he knew more than she'd ever want him to know...

_He had to be real, not a phantasm!_

There has been something dark about him and she wondered whether she could have sensed it all along as something she has perceived as _different_.  
>But had she let him close to her <em>inspite<em> of it... or precisely _because_ of it?

She did not want an illusion.

He had never cared about religious matters, but still, there was a heavy burden he's been carrying. And suddenly the idea of confession, of letting it out, became frightening and yet tempting. Guilt. Yes, it was the burden of guilt he has felt all along. They were all haunting him. And to think, it was always him who would haunt the others.  
>But not her, seeing her shaken by his words. He didn't want her to fret. "Are you afraid of me now?"<p>

_Shouldn't I be? _"I don't know..." Her voice quivered with insecurity. She seemed confused with her own words.

"I wouldn't hurt you, Isabelle." Almost disappointed with her answer, he tried to smooth the rocky path he just pushed them onto.

Only a whisper came out: "Then will you tell me about it?"

He nodded.

She sat down.

And perhaps he could. Maybe she would send a raging mob after him. But perhaps she would hear him out first. Either way, today would be the day they'd go separate ways so she would no longer have to endure his presence. She'd have nothing to do with him. And deep under the surface, he wished that she would try to see the other side of the story. Finally, he broke the silence: "It wasn't easy. The first time I had no choice. I was captured like an animal."

"Captured? How?" Her voice echoed the word that left the deepest imprint.

"I ran away from home as a boy and crossed paths with wrong sort of people. A travelling fair caught me. They kept me locked in a filthy cage as their exhibit. They would beat me and starve me until I'd knuckle under the pressure... And then they would exploit me, put me on display as a laughing stock. A freak of nature. A Devil's child. That's what they'd call me."

She tried to envision it. A child in a cage, how could anyone let it happen? "That sounds so inhumane."

"That word is a blatant mockery of itself!"

He snapped for a split second, but kept calm otherwise. He was somber but spoke in a tone rich with bitterness, self-mockery, accusation, helplessness, each sentence, each word had it's own undertone.  
>"Humans are worse than beasts in so many matters. But then again, they didn't think of me as anything more than a beast. It went on and on... No end to it... Nothing good waiting for me, nothing to hope for. No way out! Until one night when I seized the opportunity, I wasn't planning it but when I saw him... that one who tortured me, holding that whip, I knew what was coming... He was still picking coins that people threw on the ground, the income they'd earn on <em>my<em> bloody skin... The rope that they used to restrain me with was out of his sight... And I took it into my hands, knowing I'd never let him tie me up again. I strangled him. Without second thoughts, I strangled him..."

She was trying to put the pieces into a picture. "What happened then?"  
>"I just stood there not knowing what to do. I can't remember what has been going through my head, only that I stood there... <em>Somebody<em> saw it all... I've seen her earlier in the crowd... A kind soul, the only one to see a wounded human child in me, when for all the rest I've been lower than a dog. One, in all that crowd, among all those people laughing and mocking me night after night, _one _dared to truly look into my eyes! She helped me to run and hide away."

His words ran through her mind repeatedly. _Captured, exploited, beaten, mocked... _This man... and he had been only a boy back then. She couldn't help but feel sorry for his misfortune. But there was more to it, he said so himself. _The first time?_ "There is more?"

"Yes."

The same expression Christine has had when she'd told him that it was his soul that was distorted. He couldn't stand it so he stared into the distance. "A man who was a constant threat to my existence in the only place I could consider to be something like a home. He was after me for years and when it came to the final confrontation, it was either me or him. Maybe he didn't deserve to die that night, maybe I induced it, but I wasn't going to let him_ earn_ it first. Because he also became a threat to someone else, someone I cared about. He wouldn't hesitate to do the same with me."

He grew silent, recalling the memory of Buquet hanging in front of the full auditorium, his smell lingering in the air up above for a few moments longer. And that choking sound. And the snap in his spine as he threw him down! He could almost feel it even now and hardly suppressed a need all but too urgent to deny: to vomit. The enemy who had been overweening for years, had lost his self confidence that night. And if things had gone a different way, the consequences would have involved far more than Erik's own well being. With Giry involved and Christine as their protégé, there was no turning back.

But at that very moment... he wasn't thinking about that. Up in those rafters which seemed to have become the bars of his cage, a different one but still a _cage_, chasing a man whom in a way he saw as a possible captor as well, the ghost had turned into a man possessed.

After months of thinking, he realized that it might have been one of the crucial events that led him to losing Christine forever. Aside with everyone else, he became a murderer in _her_ eyes.

And there was always more. "But the one I am truly guilty of... I had no intention of killing him..." For years he had envied him on his ability to stand in front of the crowd and win them over, have everything a man of his calibré could have had. What a Devil's child could never have. Appreciation. Love. Not that it mattered that time. Poor Piangi.  
>"I only wanted to get close to <em>her<em> before they'd take her away from me, not caring if I myself would have to die. I had been aware that I was supposed to die that night, but not before having her by my side for one last glorious moment. I loved her so much... I _loved_ her."

She listened to his words, the latter came out sounding like he was trying to make it clear: it was the most important thing, he loved. She couldn't imagine what it feels like to love someone so strongly, it was something she'd only read or heard about, seeing others losing their mind over something unknown to her.

"They had set me a trap. And I went into it headfirst, hardly caring. In my madness, I tried to restrain a man, he struggled hard, much harder that I expected... but I couldn't let go... all I thought about was that she was there and that I was going to lose her forever more... Then suddenly he went limp... and I just left him there...never even turned back to see if he's dead or living." His shirt was wet with sweat, his face was wet with tears, he didn't even realize they were running. He hadn't felt such shame since that night.

He wanted, he _needed_ her to believe him.

"Do you feel... any remorse?" She desperately wanted to hear him say that he does. _Please, say «Yes»! Lie if you have to but make it true somehow! _Then she remembered that a few minutes earlier she did not want any lies. The tears in those eyes gave her hope. She couldn't recall if ever having seen them on a grown man's face.

"Not a day passes by that I don't. She made me see what I have done. I hadn't known... No one had ever cared to show me a different way... Or to tell me that their rules apply to me as well, even though they've shunned me away."

"Who was she?"

"A student, my protégé. The one whom I loved so much that I couldn't even imagine living without. Until it was too late. And I was like a madman, I would succumb to the tide of insanity just by the thought of losing her... Can you imagine having only one person in this world? My entire life was marked with solitude, Isabelle. I had never loved before. I never _was_ loved before. And I clung desperately to the possibility that she might be the one to save me."

"What happened with her?" The truth, she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear it... If he had been capable of killing, what else was left untold? The possibility that he could have harmed a woman was upsetting her more than anything he has confessed.  
>She realized that perhaps her own moral standards have grown diverse with her own experience.<br>Wasn't that hypocrisy as well, precisely the same thing she despised in others? She knew that selfish reasons couldn't justify it. But she didn't have to wait too long for an answer. This time, speaking of his defeat, he couldn't have sounded more honest:

"I had to let go of her. She was in love with someone else. A better man. She deserved to be happy."

That man whom he just described as a murderer was not the man she knew. The man in front of her was broken. Defeated. Shattered.

"And now, would you have done the same?"

"No... If only there was a way... I would rather die. I would have died gladly for her, you know. That night... she had _kissed_ me. I know how crazy that sounds, such a trivial thing. And I knew I couldn't drag her deeper into the dark of my madness. I would have died, but she wouldn't allow me to die. I've set her free and she let me run and... That set me onto this path."

She didn't know what to do, so they sat side by side in complete silence. It took some time before she spoke in a weak voice as though she must make a difficult decision. "You have shown me a man so much different..."

"Some say that madness makes men do things that are out of their control. I will not defend myself with that. They would deny me that right, even if I tried. I was never one of them, only a monster before their eyes. So, do you _honestly_ think that there could be forgiveness for someone like me?"

_Oh, heavens, the world had shunned him, but the man scorns himself! _

For him? If not for her own sake, then for his good, she truly wanted to believe that he was not a vile man, that his words were true. If only he could stay that way, if only she could help him... But she had learned things from Josephine.  
>You can not «fix» a man. You can not change him. A man himself is the only one who can do it.<br>"Only you know what is kept under the surface, whether it was... justified or not, whether you're truly redeemed. It is written that there would be more joy in Heaven over one repentant sinner than ninety-nine of others."

"It is also said that even the Devil himself could quote the Bible to his favour! I never cared about religion, I just want to know _your_ thoughts and your judgement."

His words came out rash, like a hiss now. They often did. But her own returned with the same intensity.

"How could I be the one to judge? I can't absolve you in her name! Or in the name of anyone else. I can't absolve you!"

Then her voice calmed, soothing the burn: "You've done no wrong to me."  
>There was something more. The first one, the tormentor. She remembered all too well how it feels. The pain, the humiliation, the struggle. "I see no blame on you for that first man. As for the others..."<p>

Isabelle was not naive. Perhaps just like Josephine had called her, innocent at heart but not naive. One thing she was sure of: she would not make excuses for him. He had killed. It was a bold fact. But it was not necessarily the most vile thing a man could do.

Many men have taken lives. More than she could have ever imagined. Some for their criminal urges, some out of despair. Some involved in duels over women or various disputes.  
>The girl also knew that her own father had been in war and that war means killing. <em>Killing<em> in the name of someone else, nonetheless. And not just men, many of them boys. And it takes or gravely affects the lives of women, children, old people... Villages burnt, lives ruined, food stolen from hungry mouth, babies orphaned, women violated, all honour lost... Whatever aspect of _honour_ there may be... How could all that be justified with one simple fact that it was wartime?

It was not nearly the same with this man but still... She remembered what Josephine had said about her son once. That as a soldier he must have had killed and somebody's mother is weeping over her own child's grave for that cause. But she would have taken him back into her arms, if only there was a chance... That life is cruel but we do what it takes to survive.

She realized that far too many men could be cruel and live on without contrition. People change, some for better, some for worse, but nobody stays the same once the blood has been spilled.

Had she the right to blame the man before her eyes? The one who had enough courage to admit his sins and inability to move forward? But she knew that she had no right to justify his actions either, even if it had been his own personal war.

She tried to perceive him without embellishment. And though her torn instincts were still clamoring, she could not call him an evil man.

"That is something to resolve within yourself. And _you_ are your own most harsh oppressor. I can't even tell you to pray when I've given up on prayer myself. The punishment?! If _she_ had let you escape, she must have seen the good in you. But you have brought someone's life to an ending, that cannot be changed. Would there be any use of punishment? I wish that you could sincerely tell me that you _realize_ what you have done. That would mean so much more."

Inspite of being all but ready to explode a few moments earlier, he was cooling down so rapidly as if the fueling within him had vanished. That girl... There was something about Isabelle that calmed him down.

"That sight, the reflection of myself in her eyes... And now in yours... It has opened my own. I will never forget it."

His face, a reflection of his soul? Both beauty and ugliness in it? He had a dark side just like everyone else, and it seemed to have had won over some time in the past. But the distortion within him, it seemed somehow acquired, inflicted. Nobody is born with that. She caught herself looking past both his scars and his deeds, thinking «_what if?». _

_"_You will have to make peace with yourself, Erik."

There was an aura of hopelessness around him. Wishing she could change that, she took her medallion off, brushing it with her finger for one last time. She knew him in a different way. All those sins that he confessed were not enough for her to deny him as her friend. _How well can two people come to know each other in such a short time? _

To his surprise, with an insecure smile of hope on her radiant face, she handed it over to him, both the thin chain and a pendant - all or nothing. "I want you to keep this, I think you need her more than I do."

He was about to accept it, shaky and unsure, when he turned his attention to the item that was still placed on her palm. There were so many works of art that have impersonated Magdalene as a woman with long red hair and in a way it couldn't have been more convenient. But this time... It symbolized so much more than repentance. It was a symbol of hope. It meant that someone believed in him.

The weight of it made it slip into the center of his palm, but the true value made it settle somewhere inside his chest.  
>As he accepted it, he took her hand as well, placing a respectful kiss on the back, just a light touch of his lips on her skin. "Thank you."<p>

* * *

><p>They were on their way when the familiar landscape stirred her to remember. She had been passing through these parts before. "Remember yesterday when I wanted to stop, before the storm... There is something I didn't tell you." Was keeping a secret close enough to a lie? "Our house in the country. That place... you know... It is very near."<p>

It was him who was confused this time. "How close?"

"I am not sure. Maybe an hour, even less on a horse. I can remember riding through these parts with my father and sister."

He watched her stare into the distance, towards the place which only she could see inside her mind. Her eyes gave away that she knows the right direction. "Do you want to go there?"

"I don't know. I doubt that _he _is there but still..."

"No one will know. Maybe you should. Whether your stepfather is there or..."

Suddenly she jerked as if she were bitten by a snake. "Don't ever call him that again!"

He had never seen her snap like that.

Realizing her own reaction, she tried to collect, still upset, feeling the urge to explain: "The title stands for a substitute of a father! I do not want to form any kind of connection between the two of them!"

"I am sorry." He has poked her right where he shouldn't have. He knew no better than to apologize. Yet, something wouldn't leave his mind. "After what we've talked earlier... Do you understand why I cannot fathom how come you do not wish to end it? That first man I told you about... I can't promise you that I wouldn't do it again."

"The one who tortured you?"

"Yes."

"I know. That night, if I had a chance... Maybe I would have done the same. I wanted to for far too long." She tried to sound strong. There was irony in her voice but she spoke of the truth: "Don't tempt me. I am terrified that I might change my mind too easily." That repressed ire scared her. She knew it will undoubtedly come out, one way or another. Everything does. That was more frightening than facing him in the first place. She had no idea what to expect from _herself_.

"I won't. It's not a burden you should carry." He wouldn't want her to go through that. He was condemned because of his own lunatic actions. But not her.

The curiosity seemed to win over, she wondered what had become of the old estate, knowing that it couldn't possibly be the same and that nothing good could have been awaiting. She was quiet, almost as if she were embarrassed of it. "I would like to see the place, though..."

It seemed like he wouldn't have to lure her into it, just give a little encouragement. The same thing he couldn't do with himself and his own shadows. "Isabelle? It is just another turn on the way."

Later, she found herself lurking around like a thief, accompanied by a man skilled in the matter. She stopped, observing the once dear place from afar. It was never supposed to become an object related to such hurt. She used to be happy there. Everything was still there: a picturesque image of a small villa, a stone-fenced garden, a little red-bricked ancillary house, a horsestable - the most remote of all of the objects. She couldn't help but think: _Far enough to keep the muffled screams from being heard._

Once, long ago, there would be a joyful stirr inside her just by the mere sight of it. Now, all she felt was her stomach turning.

"It is very nice. Who had built it?"

"It must have been the previous owners. Father bought it and rearranged some things... I don't remember much of that part."

There was a melancholic sound in her words, he wondered about it. "Have you been close to him?"

As she shrugged her shoulders, she tried to determine it herself. "I guess I've loved him as a child loves a father. I liked when his attention would turn to my direction. More than anything, I liked learning from him."

"You've barely mentioned him before."

"He died too early, I guess I never really got to know him. They used to say that I was his favourite but that is not what I remember. Isn't that sad? Maybe that was why he'd let me run around freely like a little boy. But there was little time when we would truly connect. He was a very dear man sometimes but... I don't recall many times when I would feel close to him."

Why on earth would he think that all daughters have such devoted fondness for their fathers? The memory of Christine weeping and sobbing endlessly had left such an impression on him that he couldn't even imagine how special their connection must have been. And then the angel came into the picture and spoiled it.

"It looks like there is no one but the estate keepers there. Would you like to have a closer look?"

The curiosity was still there but she was determined, refusing to go any nearer. It seemed like forbidden ground, soiled and poisoned. "No. It is time to move on."

* * *

><p>By the end of the day they've arrived to a residence right near Cléon. It was where they'd part. Time to say what ever has been on their minds. Why do people keep the most important things hidden till the end?<p>

"Won't you come in with me? You can rest awhile before you take on."

He declined it. Spending time with her alone had been nice. Meeting more people, pretending to be someone he wasn't and never would be, was not something he could deal with at this point. "I have to go." He would take this chance while he had it. "You know. The side roads and all that..."

"Please, do one thing. For yourself. Today. Take a carriage or a train and don't delay it any longer. I am afraid that you might take another turn. It is not just that you want to, you _need_ to know. And if you will be heading back in the same direction, come here and tell me all about it."

He had to admit it, he'd never met anyone like this girl before. "Keep the threads of life in your own hands, Isabelle. Don't let them mold you into a frame that suits them."

She wanted to hug him. A friendly gesture, to thank him, God knows he wasn't used to it. He responded. It was different then the first time. Now that she knew of his sins, there was more to it. The trust. You don't take one into your arms without opening a part of yourself. So it was an embrace, warm and close.  
>Something inside her was leading her to place a kiss on his cheek - friends would do that, wouldn't they?<br>Far from a perfect man but perhaps exactly the right kind of a friend that she needed. As she held him, rising up on her toes, trying to get to his cheek, they lips touched unintentionally, only a light misjudged contact but it felt like a... kiss.

The sensation lingered for while. She was stunned, not knowing what to do, not daring to, not wanting to break it either, and he was so close to her at the moment she could feel the air stirred between them.  
>His mind was storming, daring and provoking him at the same time. <em>What are you doing? She is not yours, she trusted you! <em>Even though he didn't do a thing to cause this, even when he could think of a hundred reasons why it shouldn't happen. And yet, neither one of them pulled away... He finally gathered courage. He dared, impelled by the fact that this might be the last chance he'd ever get to be this close to a woman, driven by the realization that he can't say that they'll ever meet again. And that he will never find a friend like this one, because such things just don't happen to him. Stroking her hair gently, he leaned even closer, slowly, giving her a chance to stop him. Still she remained there.

Such a fragile moment when their lips met again, unused to the warm, tender sensation. Just lips, locked briefly in such an innocent kiss and so much unknown hiding behind the gesture.

She felt like awaking, only that it wasn't a dream. That confusing moment of waking when you still cannot tell the place or time, only that your eyes have opened and seen a brand new day.

The reality hit the moment they parted, still confused. Both of them shaken and neither one daring to say a word about it. It was still the same world around them, even though something was different.

It was time to go. He asked for only one thing: "Remember me." In the end, she might be the one person in this world who would remember him by the good things.

There were things that would have to remain unspoken. She said only one thing: "I hope you will find your peace."

Walking away, her hand went to that place, seeking for something that was no longer there. A piece of her stayed with that medallion. An empty spot was left behind it on the outside, but something new stirred within her.

Wrapping the fine chain around his hand, his only thoughts were: _Why does every kiss come with a goodbye?_


	13. Chapter 13

**It just happened**

For once in his life, he did listen to an advice. He didn't stop. He continued his way.  
>Moving has always been good.<br>As the train was passing by Notre-Dame-de-Bondeville, he knew there was only a matter of several kilometers before his destination. That cowardly need to get away from it all began teasing again. _I don't have to stop. I could simply go onwards, to the coast, never turning back. _

It was different this time. He had to end it.

Staring through the dirty window, not wanting to face the other travelers, he was glad that most of them didn't care to venture out of their coupé, that way, he was given some space walking up and down the wagon, pacing like an animal in a cage. There was nothing to keep him occupied enough and his mind wouldn't quit thinking over and over again of everything that had happened. He told her things he didn't want to remember, he told her about his guilt. And she did not shun him away. That one moment when he had her so close.

It felt unreal. Like an essential need he barely knew he had. It has been so easy getting used to being touched, like any other person. He tried to convince himself that there was nothing more to it. She was a friend, he had no right. And yet, he did it, and he savored the moment. After all that he had been through in his life, having that one kiss naturally, unbidden, without the painful memories permeating, he could not deny that it was something precious.

On some level, it felt like an ultimate betrayal of Christine and the meaning of the kiss she had given him.  
>There had been too much poured into it, all they had once shared, all of his love, her admiration, their pain that remained dwelling inside...<br>The painful sacrifice that it symbolized. The final _adiéu_. And forgiveness, hopefully.

He had never believed that he would feel another woman's lips. The very thought hadn't crossed his mind for a long time. The possibility seemed not to exist. He most certainly never expected this. Yet, thinking how he shouldn't have allowed himself such closeness with Isabelle. _Why? Because you framed her as untouchable, as a sister, a friend, a protégé, and now you see that she is real? You did that with Christine, the very moment you had realized she was not your angel but a woman, you lost your senses._

The guilt he felt was about the fact that he did _not_ really regret kissing Isabelle.

Instead, the meaning was terribly confusing. A few minutes before it happened, she had called him a friend. A friend! That alone meant so much for a lifelong loner. And that kiss felt more than friendly... Not that he was the one to know the difference. But he felt. And he wondered.  
>Sometimes she seemed so fragile. Then out of the blue, she'd show herself in a completely different light. She did not take a single step back from the moment she had set out on the road with him. <em>Face it, the girl has more courage than you do, sometimes.<em>

The squeak of the brakes and the hitch of the stopping train shook him out of his musings. There were other things to find out now. The doors were loosely clapping all the way, he managed to open them and practically jump out before the invasion of the other passengers. He had always avoided people. Trainstations as well, aside with gendarmes and stares, it was a place where one must wait for a mass of steel and burning coal to take him away, without asking or adjusting, just heading it's settled way.

Trains had no sidetracks.  
>No liberty.<br>Speeding prisons on wheels. He hated them.

He cursed the crowds, people always gathering in herds, by their status, looks, accents, views, interests!  
>There was something that would always leave him on the margins, he didn't even try to be accepted.<br>And yet, as he was walking away all alone, it seemed like an endless road for there was no friend to keep him company.

* * *

><p>She sighed deeply once she retired to rest and closed the door of the guest room. The midnight has passed already.<br>Coming unannounced in the late afternoon, she was certainly a surprise. Meeting her sister after so long, just knowing that she missed her too... It was too emotional. At first they both shed tears but Susanne continued crying of shock, then of happiness, then of relief.  
>Because there had been a letter. And then there had been no word about her for months.<br>Isabelle had to collect herself, how funny, her being the strong one and having to comfort the older one.

They used to be children once upon a time. In another courtyard. In different roles. Other things on their minds. A few years difference making one bigger and the other one that much more striving to grow stronger, to be equal, or exactly the opposite. Sometimes friendly, at times not so much, but always together.  
>For the long time apart, they wrote letters. Sometimes on regular terms, sometimes rarely. Far from the eyes but not from the heart. And yet, it wasn't the same. Once growing side by side, through the changes from childhood to youth; it was a shock to having seen each other once, maybe twice a year, and discovering a grown woman, or a mother to be, a person with different view on the life, an altered being, a mature feature, a childish smile gone sad, someone completely new.<br>They have both changed with time but deep down they were still the same girls that used to share secrets no one else would know about. Until one of them had been married, and the other... _Not now... Not tonight._ There were so many questions and so many matters yet to be said that could wait until tommorrow. After so much time wasted already, she deserved at least one evening of being careless, even if it meant pretending that there is nothing squirming and pulsing in the deep core of her. Tonight, it was only the good things, even if that meant hiding the truth. At least for now.

Alone. It was a tremendous relief after all the chatter, meeting the children, answering ordinary questions, giving some innocent lies... Too much company and motion left a trace. When everyone likes you, when they think of you as who you used to be, it's hard to show oneself as someone they haven't truly known yet.  
>She was exhausted, all she wanted to do was sink into the bed.<p>

Dragging out of her dress, she didn't bother to put anything on. She has locked the door, nobody would see that she's in nothing more than a shift. So soft, a proper mattress... finally. Stretching out on top of the covers, she closed her eyes. But sleep would not come easily. For hours having been preoccupied with times long gone, a flash of something perfectly new would interrupt.  
>Tonight, something refused to leave her at peace. The feel, the tenderness... <em>That kiss. <em>

Confusing as it had been, she didn't know what to think of it. _No matter what the meaning of it was..._ Her fingers traveled to the lips in the most gentle touch she could make, recalling the sensation. _It felt nice. _If nothing else, at least that kiss was one thing that wasn't stolen from her, she has shared it freely with a man. And all that feeling... so good.

It was her _first_.

And she did not regret it. She hasn't expected it, nor those shivers that ran through her spine. _It just happened. _With that thought she noticed that the corners of her lips were forming a smile without her permission. Treasonous lips.

Somewhere between a memory and that feeling of drifting of into sleep, she heard a silent knock on the door. Opening her eyes it became clear she was not dreaming, the sound was real. She trembled with the reminiscence of the dream from the first night of the tour. The one in which she has been ready to open the door against every reasonable thought. A voice from the hallway called for her with a whisper. It was Susanne. She got up, thinking to herself: _Who did you think it was? Wake up._

There was a muffled sound from the other side. "Are you asleep?"

The sound of the key scratching the lock echoed in the silence. "Not anymore."

Susanne handed a white bundle to her. "Why on earth did you lock yourself in? Here, I've brought you one of my nightgowns." But apparently she had no intention to leave the room. It was only an excuse. In a playful tone she asked: "Do you remember how we used to sneak late at night and talk?"

Isabelle remembered it differently. "You mean, how I wouldn't leave you alone, dedicated to being an annoying little brat always a step behind you? You would never be at peace." They hadn't known how happy they had been back then.

"Yes, you would keep me awake for hours, and I'd get scolded for sleeping late in the morning. You, of course, never lacked the energy to get up by the crack of dawn." She laughed with the thought of Isabelle's restless spirit. "When did we stop being children?"

"You were to be married. When you left, I was alone. Things change." They sat at the foot of the bed, like two girls they used to be so long ago. She decided to fight the somber allusion, chasing it away with the happier things. "Do you remember...?" She pulled the bed covers above her head. It had always been so, she would sneak into her sister's room, this time it was the other way around, and even if there was no one else, an improvised hideaway, a simple cover would make them feel untraceable to the world. Even if they would have dedicated the rest of the day to a purpose of driving each other crazy, times like this would bring them together inspite those few years of difference. And then they could talk freely, leaving the world out.

Susanne joined her giggling along for a while, mercilessly devouring a small box of chocolates in a tribute to the remnants of childhood, when Isabelle teased her: "Shouldn't you be next to your husband by now?"

"He can wait, I listen to his snoring every night for years."

"Poor Susanne... You know, a long time ago, a cannon couldn't wake you up..."

"You'll see one day when you marry!" Using the opportunity to take the role of an older one again, she joked paraphrasing the line they had been given as an answer for too many times.

But she shunned the idea away. "I have no intention."

"Well, you're free to change your mind someday."

"Are you happy, Susanne?" It seemed such an ordinary question. But with that sad smile on Isabelle's mouth, sounded so personal. Secretive, even.

"Of course I'm happy. A good husband, a nice home, two healthy children. More will come, God willing."

"Is it enough to keep you happy? Have you never wished for something more?"

"What more? I don't understand you. But just wait... One day you'll..."

"What if I don't want to? What if I want to see what's on the other side of the walls?"

"That sounds more like you. If you were still a thirteen year old tomboy, of course." She got a vague sigh in response. "You changed. I still can't believe my little sister would close herself into a convent, whether it be for education or anything else."

Like an omen, there was that strange bitter liquor pouring out of the chocolate which she has just picked. Remembering the smell, she all but spat it out wrapping it into the handkerchief.

The little sister... Yes, this evening she turned into the little sister again, it just got to her. She had someone of her own now. And this words were bringing her down. "I wouldn't." Such a sad tone, and then the mute pressure of silence. "And it took me a long time to come out of there. I was so terribly lonely, with so many sisters all around me. But no one that I could connect with... No, it was not the same. I missed you."

"Then why didn't you come back home?"

The saddest blue eyes stared back, lost in thoughts. "Home? There was no home to return to. Hadn't mother told you?" She couldn't help but sound bitter about it.

"Told me what? When I would come to see you those few times, you wouldn't talk much."

And she would rather not talk about it now. Saying nothing, she shook her head and threw her arms around the other one's shoulders. "I couldn't... Sorry, I can't ..."

There were those familiar arms holding her tight. Keeping everything inside, it was hard to stay strong. And there was that voice making it all the more difficult. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Not tonight."

"Have I said something wrong?"

"Not at all. It doesn't surprise me, you know. She managed to keep the facade intact. Until the entire construction started falling apart."

"Who? Mother? When was the last time the two of you even talked?"

She swallowed the tears, not letting them out. _Don't do this, do not fall apart now... "_It had been a long time. I didn't want her to visit. I had rarely responded to her letters. You know that." She sniffled her nose, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Until she wrote to me last year when she has finally decided to leave him."

"Mostly it didn't even seem like a marriage, you know? More apart than under the same roof. It all ran out of control. I didn't know how bad things were, really, until the servants began talking of them confronting more and more. Gervais hit her... That drunken ass. Can you imagine the scandal? She's been staying with aunt Liz since then. He won't give her a divorce."

It upset her terribly, knowing that she had tried to warn her but it was all for nothing. And now, after everything... It was because of the incident that couldn't stay hidden! "The scandal? Honestly, Susanne? And how many times it must have happened with nobody around? I told her... I told her what he is like!" She wished to take the last words back, getting the attention precisely where she didn't want it. She saw the strange look on the face staring at her.

"Why? Did he hit you too? It all changed when you left."

She curled up and it seemed like she was closing every door to the outer world. The silence filled the room, melting with darkness until she heard her own name spoken a few times more. Appalled by the statement that was about to come out, she was drowning in grief once more. But what did it matter now? "I didn't want to bring it out, not tonight. Susanne..." She preferred to keep it a secret but that hadn't done her any good. And now, the circle of people who _knew_ seemed to expand more and more but it was different, those other people, her friends, were far away right now. And she needed someone like that by her side.

It would all come out one way or another. And maybe, if not their mother, then Susanne could understand it. Closing her eyes, pressing the lids tight, she pushed the words that still refused to come out. And again, refusing to cry, she tried to control her breathing. Just like Josephine's everlasting advice for anything in life. _Grit your teeth and breathe through it._

"He violated me."

It ripped the silence.

"He raped me." It was probably the first time she said it out loud with those exact words.

As calmly as she could manage. Without any bursting emotion, just a statement. For a brief second it felt like she was talking about another person, like it had happened to someone else.

Not a single movement from her, not a sound, she was cold, closed in a shell. All she heard were words of denial: "No. It can't be."

And she could not believe it. Susanne, of all people, the one who should have believed her! Storming inside, she failed to hear the true significance of her sister's words, the shock and the wish that it was not so. But all that got to her at that point was the feeling that her words have no credibility. Has she spoken it out in vain?

"How dare you say that!" She nearly jumped, standing up defensively, wanting to feel in power. She would not be ignored this time! The other was taken aback, staring in disbelief. "My God! Isabelle, I swear I didn't know..." Susanne hid her face into her palms with embarrassment.

It was seeping out now, having been held in for so long: "He violated me, he marred me and he left me bleeding on the ground like an animal... And she has done nothing except hiding me away!" Gasping between the lines, she continued: "It is not fair! Everyone else continued with their lives but I remained _captured_ at one point and I can't move on!  
>And now, I belong <em>nowhere<em>." There was so much resentment in her words, she wasn't even aware of it until she heard herself pouring it out.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." She didn't know what else to say, how to react. "Oh, Lord! Isabelle..."

"Don't say anything, please. There is nothing that can be done about it now."

"There is me. I will stand by your side no matter what happens." Turning her back to the other, she felt herself being pulled into an embrace.  
>But somehow, there was something <em>missing<em>, almost like she expected to feel another pair of arms, those stronger ones which would be hesitating at first and then they'd close around her, drawing her closer and closer until she almost wished to stay hidden there in between... And she couldn't help but think of him. _Where are you wandering now, stranger? _

* * *

><p>It was dawning. The day seemed to have come too soon. At least for him. With one look on the table, a hundred thoughts poured into his head.<br>The birth certificate which he got the previous day, he a man without past, a man of lies, with no written proof that he had existed in the past three decades, and that paper still served for basically nothing.  
>An empty bottle of wine right next to it, the train ticket, a pocket watch, Christine's ring... The medallion. <em>You're turning into a collector of oddities again. <em>

Time to go. Yesterday, he found nothing that really mattered, a piece of paper that was supposed to prove that he is a legitimate child. But he knew that anything can be put on paper. Besides the names he didn't care to remind himself about in years, he didn't find much, only a trace to another village where she might have been settled.  
>Obviously, dear mother did not wish to be found when she'd left everything behind.<br>Too bad, for he was just in the mood to track her down, look into her horrifyied eyes, make her look at him, make her listen and say whatever what would come to his mind. She'd have to hear it, then. She owed him that much, he didn't ask to be brought into this world. And now at last, she might see what she had caused.

Within minutes, he gathered his things, tilted the hat low on his face and rushed out not caring about her wishes, or the growling in his stomach, or the people that he all but shoved out of his way as he paced through the halls of the inn. He had matters to resolve and he didn't feel like waiting. Maybe it was this reminder which Isabelle left in his hand that urged him on.  
>Maybe it were her words. If he could have her by his side right then, he wouldn't know what to say. Making sure that the medallion was still in his pocket every few hundred meters, like it could vanish somehow, he hurried away wishing he had given her something in return. And with that thought, he recalled that kiss.<br>Not only given or taken... It was shared. _It just happened._


	14. Chapter 14

**Wondering**

He couldn't remember the last time he had been inside of a church.

The etiquette demanded that he takes his wide brimmed hat off and, along with that, face the usual uncomfort. He brushed some of the hair from the top to the right, blemished side of his head, glad that it has grown just a bit longer.  
>There was someone in the confessional. Stepping <em>in there<em> was the last thing on his mind.  
>He had been dealing with his own conscience without interference of God's intermediaries for all of his life.<br>With few exceptions, that is. One had been his Madame who knew about the blood that stained his hands. Then Christine, the one who made him see what he'd become. And now, there was Isabelle, the one who did not judge him. For all the things he told her, she gave him hope instead. Lately he even wondered whether this wordless promise was some sort of a penance she wily lured him into.  
>With these kind souls, and his own tormented mind, he needed no other confessors.<p>

As he stepped out of the shadows behind a pier, the usual unpleasant surprise at the sight of his uncovered disfigurement flew across the old priest's face but began to mild down immediately. He was only human, and so was his surprise. The almost equal reaction came from the other side, with the words that were addressed to him. "How can I help you, son?"  
><em>Son?<em> Sure, it was a common phrase to a man of clergy. But to a man who felt like nobody's son, it was the strangest feeling. Especially in this situation when he was trying to track down his origins. With a short, well prepared explanation that had been repeated silently in his mind while waiting, he followed into the rectory, clutching tightly at his hat. It would be too easy to just turn back, he thought, wanting to get out, yet knowing that he mustn't.

As the skinny old man browsed through the church records, he couldn't help but feel anxious. In a need of distraction, he occupied himself studying the oil replica of Pietà. _A Mother... Weeping over the body of her Son..._ It was too much for him at the given moment. Even the smell of the cold damp walls was too damn familiar.  
>Swiftly his attention moved to the worm-eaten fretwork on the crucifix above the door, but his thoughts did not forget that image. Aside with the divine imagery, all that got to him was the outright humanly part of the scene.<br>A mother, just a mother, holding her son.  
>Finally, answering some formalities, he couldn't stand the feeling of ignorance: "Anything at all, Father Antoine?" It was awkward, referring to the priest with this peculiar phrase when he hardly remembered calling anyone in his life by that particular title. The grey saggy man mumbled a few words that gave a hint they were onto something. Finally.<p>

"Here it is. She was signed in under her maiden name, then she was married, right in this parish. The birth certificate, you have been christened here and then, wait... There is something missing, no first communion? I suppose you're not here for a confession, now?" He looked at the tall dark man who shook his head absently. But he didn't judge him, old man. "No confirmation either. No siblings, no living ones signed in, at least, let's see about her, there's something annotated..."

_Of course, there is always something missing when it comes to dear mother. _It was something he did not expect, certainly not what he was hoping for, and sadly, it would give him no answer.

* * *

><p>The nights were calm and warm lately. Well, at least to the first impression. Waking up in a haze, Isabelle could not remember what world she has just fallen out of. It had been nice there, that much she could remember.<br>_There was someone else._ _Those arms...  
><em>She couldn't recall what it was all about. The window was open wide with a curtain fluttering in the warm summer breeze. Her face was pressing into the pillow as she realized that her skin, hot to the touch of her cold fingertips, could sense every single movement of air in the room._ His arms?_ With one knee almost over the edge and her hand between the mattress and her belly, she found that the covers pushed to the bottom of the bed must have been her own doing. Feeling every stir, inspite of the light material of her night dress, she felt nude.

Her hand darted lower, wanting to pull the hem down her exposed legs but abandoned it's mission the moment it touched her bare thigh, moving closer to the warm center only to hesitate for a while. Finally, she dared to move it again, a bit closer, sparking the sensation that remained from the dream, a little surprised to find it's wet trace in reality. _Oh, my... _Moving a little further in a slow rhythm, leaning her forehead into the arm right under, she bit her lip wondering: _Is this what it feels like?_ Holding that thought and keeping the steady movement for a while, just feeling it, she learned how her body was welcoming it. More confident with herself, she turned, leaning on her back, letting the other hand slide down her neck, drawing a path down her curves, feeling the skin of her own breasts with a mysterious smile on her face. It was only her... and maybe a flicker of a thought of arms... of a man. _Could it ever feel like this...?  
><em>Stroking the tender secret place, it went on and on, thinking, she could fall asleep like this.  
>No one would ever know. They don't have the right, she thought. Her hand cupped her breast, remembering a trace barely visible, but which left an imprint into her core. <em><br>_The spell was suddenly broken, her entire form cooled down and she could not continue.

A long time has passed before sleep overtook her once again, her arms wrapped around a pillow she pressed against her chest. This time there would be nothing nice waiting for her in the prison of dreams. Instead, it was that agonizing feeling of inability to move a single muscle, even a little. With only a slow, difficult intake of breath, barely sufficient, her body kept fighting the lurid threat of suffocation. Paralyzed, she focused on only one thing: to end this torture. To keep breathing and try to move.  
>That was usually the way out, well known through previous experiences alike, caught somewhere in between a dream and reality, with her body and her mind following different orders. She knew that eventually she would wake up but, dear God, did that moment of rescue seem out of reach! Panic overcame her as she feared that this time she would not be able to wake her body, staying locked inside her own mind. And when it finally came, she has lost the track of the time. Exhausted, not able to keep her eyes open, she drifted away again and when she awoke for the third time, it was morning already.<br>She never knew what nights would bring. There seemed to be no end to that.

Her days, on the other hand, were passing by all the same, one after another. At times, Isabelle wished there was something more useful she could do instead of counting the immensity of time. Few days later, as her niece asked to accompany her to see the horses, she couldn't help but smile at the statement which Susanne exclaimed when she's first seen the two of them together: "It is like having a little version of you with such spirit in this little one."  
>The girl adored horses but Isabelle knew there was more to it, she must have loved the feeling of freedom and control over something much bigger and stronger than her. Let her enjoy it, she thought. There are not that many chances for a woman to feel such freedom. At the same time she wondered if the child has ever had an opportunity to straddle it like her brother had, instead of being taught to ride sideways, like a proper girl. And maybe the history truly likes to repeat itself.<br>Years ago, she had to learn that all by herself, hidden from other people's sight, and lately she wished for an opportunity to chase that glorious animal once again. _Not yet, but soon._

* * *

><p>All of this effort, and for what? After such a long time, all those miles behind him, following the faded traces, wondering if there was anything worth finding at all, trying to find some reasonable words to utter if he should ever meet her... She was <em>dead<em> and buried.  
>But not to him. There was a gap inside of his chest and he couldn't fathom whether it was grief, disappointment, confusion, or all at once. She had died some two years ago, after a fever that drained her weak body. <em>Surely I can't have expected to find you waiting for me, could I?! How dare you die?!<em>

He stood in front of a simple grave that had been poorly taken care of, his feet pasted to the spot her own cold feet should probably be, buried deep down under. Staring at the wooden cross, he couldn't find a single reasonable explanation why he was still standing there. It must have been for hours, by now. From the well of many questions that would never be answered, the ones that wouldn't leave him at peace have passed across his lips: "What have I ever done to you?" The dried ground underneath would not indulge him with an answer, neither would it crack open and pull him inside for once.  
>"Why couldn't you love me?" His heart sank deep into the thick fog of confusing sadness, that much he was sure of.<br>She never cared to let him know. It was hard to deal with that. Has there really been nothing more for him? Just facts, no story left for him? _Well, then... No wonder how such a cold heart lay buried all alone._

Disappointed, numb, brought down to his knees with the latest blow, he slowly turned to walk away, giving one last glance to the name written on the cross. "Goodbye."

With his legs heavy and tired, he needed more strength to stride away, unsure of which direction he should take. Until today, he had a destination. Now, when everything seemed to lead to a dead end, he had no other goal. _Where do I go from here?_

* * *

><p>Days kept passing by in their usual aggravatingly slow rhythm. She loved to spend the time with children. They never asked the things she did not want to talk about. With Susanne it was different. Once upon a time they could have talked about sensitive things. But now, she could not make her sister truly understand what it is like.<br>She has asked of Susanne to tell no one else but her husband. Regardless of the love she felt for her sister and the joy of reuniting, she didn't want to stay settled at that place, treated like a porcelain doll. Sheltered, but what from?  
>Yet another one of those strenuous conversations has taken it's course straight to the matter. All the explanations seemed overheard or forgotten as Susanne tried to convince her to fight in court.<p>

"I don't understand. Why don't you demand justice with a lawsuit? We could convince mother into this. He could lose everything."

"No."

"But why not?"

"No, why can't you see? I do not want anything of his. I will only take what is mine. What belongs to us."

"If I were in your place I wouldn't stop until there would be nothing left for him but the holes in his pockets."

It was enough for her. How could that ever bring any satisfaction? The boundaries of self-control were starting to shake dangerously. The bitter sea of all she kept inside wanted to break them. Her voice grew strong: "You will never understand! I don't want a single filthy sou that comes from him. I will not allow such humiliation. What would it mean? Tell me, what is the right price for the damage that had been done? For a defiled body? It is much more than that! For all the sleepless nights. What about the nights when I would have woken up in horror, wishing I had never fallen asleep in the first place? For all the times I tried to wash away the feeling of his nasty breath on me, knowing that it was not real... But it felt too real to me! Do you know how hard it is to let a man approach me? Feeling like damaged goods? Sure, even the Bible has settled the matter that way: pay for the damage or marry the woman. What do you think it would feel like? It is not much different, Susanne, a price for the flesh!"

It was much more than an attack to her body. The ravaged spirit that carried the worst aftermath. The list could go on and on, she could talk about those days that had followed immediately after, when she'd been hiding the traces of her blood, when she could have felt the stench of his presence even if he had not been anywhere near, and how she'd have scoured her fingernails to make sure there is not a single trace of of her struggle left, but she couldn't stand the sound of her own words quivering any more. All the bravado that was there in the begining was now melting down.

With an excuse of needing some fresh air, she rushed outside. Darn the corset, the thing served it's purpose – reshape the truth, though more figuratively in her case, making her gasp for air! Always the same excuse... Air! Liberty more like it... A female deception for getting, or even better – avoiding attention. An old trick but it still worked.  
>No matter how much she felt welcomed, the feeling of not belonging there was growing stronger and stronger. The time has taken the toll. She wanted to be left alone. For all she cared, she would rather be scrubbing the laundry at Josephine's house at that precise moment. At least there she was never treated as though she were about to break at any moment.<p>

* * *

><p>Out of the blue, some tingling sensation aroused his skin which cowered in response. Something smooth and soft brushed against his cheek and the exposed neck. He wanted to feel more of it. <em>Hair?<em> His eyelids fluttered blinded by the red sunlight. He could almost smell the fragrance of something soothing.  
>His back stiffened and then relaxed, he tried to reach for that someone but found that she was not there. Was it even a <em>«She»<em>? When he opened his eyes again, there was nobody else around, only the warm reddish hue of the new dawn. As the rain of falling leaves showered him from above with another dash of wind, he finally discovered a rational source of the stirring sensation. How he hated the rational at the given moment. Almost slapping himself, he brushed it off. _Hair... Sure. In your imagination._

Last night he didn't even bother to find himself a decent place to sleep, dozing off right under a tree. The vagabond.  
>Now, without a destination, he had nowhere to go. Not really. There was no reason to stay and no guidance to set him out to somewhere else. Someone's words echoed through his wondering mind: "<em>I could just stay somewhere like this for a long time."<em>  
>There. It was peaceful there. That place made a fine refuge from the world. With a start he stood up and headed onward.<p>

* * *

><p>Has it really been two weeks already? There was nothing much to do now when she has started a legal proceeding in a try to return that blasted estate. Legally, it belonged to their mother, and according to that, also to that damned man that has been in a role of her husband. With a few tricks and acquaintances of Georges - her brother in law, the loopholes concerning inheritance would be analyzed, untangled, re-sewn a little if that's what it takes. The point was not in getting it back but in taking it from his filthy hands. Frankly, she would rather see it destroyed than blossoming under his command.<p>

The rent that she had inherited after her father's death appertained, a nice sum had been collected over the years. Once they've been a respectable family. Well off even nowadays, taking care of wives' and daughters' well being. She hardly cared. So what was there for her to do, spend it and do nothing? It meant security, of course, and it was a nice excuse to reject any attempt her sister would take to convince her to either stay and live with her family further on. Or to develop some interest in those friends of the family, friends that started appearing at dinner. There was never any doubt about who invited them over.

Her sister, always hoping for the best, believed that she might develop an affectionate friendship with some of the dashing young men. Perhaps even more than that. And maybe start anew. All the effort has been in vain, for Isabelle didn't care much about their company. Sure, they were fine men, nice, respectable, all carefully selected by her sister. The kind one would want to have near. The kind that would protect you from harm.  
>She didn't need a savior.<br>They couldn't change the rhythm of her heart. Not even she could do that.  
>What could she do, go against her own instinct? Lately, her thoughts, sometimes worried and often lonely, were wondering away to someone whose whereabouts she knew nothing of. <em>Still not a word from you.<em>

* * *

><p>That day when they have gone separate ways, she had told him to stop by if he would be passing by, sounding like she truly cared to hear a word from him. However, he couldn't bring himself to actually do it. A man like him, a man who had killed, a man who caused horror could not just appear on a property of a respectful family, jeopardizing the reputation of a young woman. She deserved better.<br>Contemplating all the reasons why she should not be connected to him, he ventured on, unconvincingly avoiding another delicate thing: she has asked it of him before that kiss happened. Who could tell what she might be thinking now! He didn't understand it himself! It bothered him deeply. Never before had someone brought him so damn close to opening up and pouring his own soul out.  
>Walking away from a friend would be an act of a very ungrateful man. He owed her more than that, and yet, he couldn't offer much. In his mind, he started putting words together.<p>

_Dear Isabelle,_

_If there is anyone in this world who could understand the need to find peace, then that person is You. _

_Life has been playing cruel tricks on me. I sought. But I haven't found. The one person who could have cleared this fog is now gone. It must be some sort of punishment for I did not care to seek answers while there was still time. There is no purpose in going further on. In fact, there is nothing for me to do but try to find solace and make peace deep within, just like you have once told me to. Your words meant more than I could possibly describe within these few lines. _

_A man who carries a burden like mine, must not intrude into your life. You should know what I am referring to. I did many wrongs in my life. Therefor, I am writing this letter instead of meeting you in person. A friend like you can never be replaced. You gave me hope, Isabelle, how could I ever repay you? At times, I wish we could talk, it has never been easier for me to do such a trivial thing than those times when you were there to listen._

_Should I hope to see you ever again? You will surely be around these parts at some time, with your own story yet unfinished. Remember the place where you have told me how sometimes You wished to stay somewhere alike? I don't know for how long I'll dwell here, but right now I can't think of a better place to go. _

_If you need help, try to find me. If you ever want to talk, or just sit by the water quietly, I will be honoured to indulge you. I've come to learn some things from a certain red haired saint whose care you had left me in. She does not talk much but she is a good listener._

_Sincerely,  
>Erik.<em>


	15. Chapter 15

**Down and dirty**

The wood dust was sticking to the moist skin of his upper body exposed to the sun for days now. A droplet of sweat was running straight into his right eye. He tried to wipe it off with the back of his hand but it left a burning sensation along the way. The tools have fallen to the ground, abandoned for the unknown time this week. Hissing and walking over to the stream to rinse the sweat and dirt away, he looked at the outcome of his doing. What was once a chunk of wood, now turned into an undefined shapeless form after another outburst of anger, had yet to be altered into something. Or nothing.  
>Maybe another ruin, like himself.<br>He had been taking his anger out on that stubborn hard piece, the only witness to his frustration. _How dare she die before I've come to seek her out? How dare she close her eyes before she'd seen the ruin I've become?_

He has buried himself into physical work but still nothing constructive came out, in fact all he has done until that moment was dismantling, tumbling and separating. What can be created from the things destroyed? Out of a wreck? It didn't matter to him, as long as he kept doing something_,_ it was easier to stand the loneliness. Not that he missed people, but there was absolutely nobody around.  
>Not for talking, not for stalking.<br>Looking at the mess all around, he figured how he should start putting things together. Easier said than done. He splintered and sew and nailed and cursed all at the same time. It didn't help. He explored the territory all around. Further each day. There was only him now.

Days ago, he has even ventured to the estate where Isabelle had led him that last day. Succumbing to the instincts, stalking and preying, perhaps in the name of those «good old times» when he had still been the master of his domain, he took in every corner suitable for observing. None of the owners were there. He wondered what «that man» must be like, she obviously feared him still and had a damn good reason for that. And, another irony, all along she was roaming around with a Devil's child, in all his sinful glory. It didn't make much sense. Neither did the fact that he caught himself thinking of her ever more often when he'd feel alone.

The place was anything but peaceful without her around. Either that, or it was Erik himself who had chased all that tranquility away with his wrathful spirit down in the same dirt where the body dwelt.

Wandering around, he had easily found himself another task. There were doors waiting to be fixed. It was a start. It would distract him. Anything would distract him. As long as it's not music. A dead mother was enough. He didn't want the shadow of Christine hovering above him too. Oh, but through the window, he could see the pouch with her ring placed right inside, left on the table. _I am trying to let you go, why can't you help me for once?!_

* * *

><p>She couldn't hide the obvious smile when she had received a particular letter. Sitting on a small balcony she was drinking in every word, trying to imagine what it must be like. To come to a dead end after everything. It must have left a deep trace on him for the way he put it together, he seemed somewhat lost.<br>With utmost surprise, she found that there is something else in that envelope. A fine polished silver appendage in a shape of an anchor. Lifting it up, she watched it glimmer under the sun. Something about it was whispering that it was more than just a replacement for the medallion she had given him. An old symbol of hope.

There was hope sprouting within her, and with it strength as well. She was ready to make another step, little by little, but ever more sure, standing on her own feet. Her decision to leave was made days before. Knowing the way his story turned made her uneasy around the heart. She had to go. And she would leave soon. _Thank you, Erik._

It was about time to look into her own mother's eyes.  
>A sudden awareness that no one can keep waiting incessantly, that perhaps life might play some trick on her too, made her move from that one spot where she has remained settled for weeks now.<p>

Nobody can wait forever, not even mothers. Not everyone gets the opportunity to say «I love you» nor «how could you?!», no «goodbye» nor «forget me» before it's too late. Erik didn't get that chance.

Leaving Susanne, she had set out for a visit to aunt Liz with that purpose. Isabelle needed to see her. It was also a good excuse to change the environment. How awkward, to live a life of a lady from a respectful family, when that was the life from long ago. Used to having just enough, she had no clue what to do with her life when having more than necessary. Life is easier when it's simple, she thought.  
>The question her sister asked her still rang in her ears: "What is it that you really want?" One thing that she wanted was to move on. It was a start. More important, she knew what she did not want. She was not a porcelain doll. Therefore, no use staying in that place, the dollhouse was not her home.<p>

Sitting in the carriage, watching the meadows and fields exchange along with the copses and forest, she gave way to memory of passing nearby, walking all this distance once not so long ago in a company of a _man_. Friend. A man who became both a trigger of a sort, and her ally. A man who had kissed her and somehow managed to steal into her strange dreams every so often.  
>And to think that she had feared his gaze when she'd first met him. <em>Those unreadable eyes.<em>

It seemed strange, her fears that _someone_ might have been informed of her unannounced arrival, and that he might have interfered or even stopped her, have fallen apart. Though they have been grounded. As expected, there was a letter from the Ursulines to the family... And she only found out about it from Susanne.  
>Her mother has burnt the mentioned paper.<br>Her own mother knew how she has left the sisters. And that she hasn't come to her. What must have she been thinking? That she wouldn't come home, and the part that hurt the most was that it has been the truth. Maybe it wasn't in vain, someone undoubtedly _will regret_ that he hadn't known. With that thought, she noticed how she was almost there.

* * *

><p>The lady whose rubenesque shape and fancy dress did not seem to fit with the speed of her approaching, nearly crushed into her, taking her into an embrace and placing a couple of loud kisses on her cheeks. She had never liked that as a child, even less now, but she loved aunt Liz and, as a good girl that she always was, endured it stoically with a smile on her face. Good girls do that.<br>The usual greetings followed, it became a routine for her in the past few weeks, by now she felt almost like an actress in a predictable play. "_Ma tante_... It's been so long!"

"Dear, look at you, you've turned into a real beauty!" The other would answer, they'd talk for a while, then one would do all that is possible to make her feel like home. Though she had nearly forgotten what home feels like. The usual awkwardness of the occasion would dissolve and gradually, they'd come to the point where all would be just as it normally should. Isabelle had been through this before.  
>Acting until it turns into reality! Almost.<p>

Nothing seemed to be different than any other reunion, except for one question that kept waiting patiently. Her poor mother.

"Melancholia, that's what the doctor said." The girl watched her aunt in disbelief. "She barely eats, hardly goes out. I do my best but... It is like life has lost every meaning for her. I have kept her here because she seems better off with people she knows."

_It's because of me... Oh, Lord, I should have let her know!_ It has been her own responsibility, she concluded. No matter how hard it may have been, she shouldn't have left from one place where she was safe and sound, and then dissappear without a word for months. And to think, she may have even selfishly hoped on occasions that her mother knows and wonders why! How reckless of her...

Not much later, she felt the urge to take a turn and run away. Liz has warned her about her mother's condition but she was not prepared for seeing her like that. Entering the room, she was taken aback. The pale dame waiting inside seemed to be nothing but a shadow of a woman she once was. Isabelle didn't remember her this ... _withered_. Not only in the emotional way. Her entire appearance seemed sad, the room around her, some apathetic aura around this woman who seemed so worn out. Tired of her own life.  
>She approached slowly, almost hesitating, encouraged when the woman stood up from her chair to greet her with an unsure smile, surprised and caught unready.<p>

"_Maman_?" Was it really her inside this ... lifeless doll?

A mother holds a special place, and the child-again, only a child before her, couldn't look at her with resentment. A heart knew better.

As she saw those thin hands gripping the armrests tighter, she rushed towards her, forgetting all the resentment for this few minutes, only to hold her. She was thinner than ever, like someone had slowly been draining all the strength out of her. This was not what the girl imagined her to be like. Not a trembling shadow.

Therese has been holding herself together up to this point but now, seeing her daughter reaching out for her, she broke down. Unable to speak clearly, crying, all she could say was the same words that kept repeating over and over again. "My little girl... I'm sorry."

_I loved you, mother. And I still love you. But it hurt so much..._

Isabelle didn't know whether she could forgive so easily. Should she at all? But something already broke within her, like an ugly old crust unexpectedly revealing the new skin underneath, soft and vulnerable but whole. It couldn't be explained so simply. This would be a long day, she knew it right from the start. Start with something easy, she thought, you've got plenty of time_. _Have patience. Don't push it...  
>"Such a long time... Don't cry... Where have you been... How come you came... Why didn't you write..." Questions. Answers. It all sounded so unfinished, leading to a box of questions buried under the deep bastion of clamoring silence.<p>

And in the end, it could all have been summarized in a few lines.

After a long period of silence, with a weak voice, she finally asked: "Why me, _maman_?"

Her mother seemed confused, fumbling with the lace on her sleeve, as if it mattered, as if it could fool either one. "What do you mean?"

"Why me? Why did you send me away?" Not bearing to look at that ashen face in an attempt to form a decent answer, she took the liberty of pulling the curtains apart, letting the sun in. The room was too somber.

"You wanted to leave."

"I was running! It hadn't mattered where! And you let me. You never came for me!"

"You barely ever wrote, you didn't want me to visit!"

"I wanted you to come and take me away!" Why are the most innocent things so hard to confess?!

There came a sigh as she was finding the words. "Don't you see? I was trying to keep you safe. He couldn't harm you there."

"He had harmed me already!" She snapped. "I couldn't speak about it. But with time, you knew, hadn't you?" The only way Isabelle could imagine it was that Therese did not _want_ to see the obvious.

And she held back again. "It was not fair. Why did you allow him to live on as if nothing had happened?"

"For your own good. So you wouldn't have to live with that."

"No. You had done me wrong!" Sometimes you pull out your claws unintentionally, even when you don't intend to use them. Because once you had learned that you could get hurt too easily. And then you regret it, because this is a mother, you only have one. _Your mother, for Heaven's sake, and you are supposed to have respect... _A tide of self-reproach splashed at her and she couldn't help it.

Therese became self-defensive, believing how she did her best: "What would you have preferred? To be avoiding him all your life? To be married off one day to someone and hope that it would turn out better than my mistakes? Or to become a spinster like Liz?"

There was always more, there had been injustice done. Nothing could keep her quiet now: "I did not deserve to have been kept silenced! You ignored my pain in order of keeping an _illusion_. If you had a morsel of self-respect, you would have at least left that monster! God knows my fatherwould have killed him the very instant, if only he were alive! How could you have replaced him with a man like that?"

It was her defeat, Therese knew it: "I was blinded. It was infatuation. What I'd never had. I only wanted something more of life. And he has ruined us both. I had brought this misfortune on you."

Isabelle did _not_ feel ruined.  
>She felt furious, hurt, sometimes even damaged - the very expression which she despised, yes, but she refused to think of herself as <em>ruined<em>.

If nothing, she was building a new woman.  
>Anger, resentment, that was what had been growing within. "Then why hadn't you left him all those years ago? Why now? Because people found out how he treats you? That he is an animal?"<p>

There was a moment of surrender to the fact that has been obvious: "I was weak. I was afraid of him. He is a vile man, Isabelle."

She collected herself, calming, reminding herself that this is her mother who only wanted to keep her safe. "For how long?"

"What?"

"For how long have you lived in fear of him?"

Therese had no choice but to acknowledge her own naivety and mistake. Her little girl knew. It was obvious in her sad eyes that she knew about the mistreating even if there were no words to confirm and there was no point in denying: "Ever since then."

_So, you had known after all, you had suspected, at least._

Her little girl knew how to read between the lines. It pierced a mother's heart.

Therese felt the duty to explain. "I wanted you by my side. But I couldn't bring you back while he was around. I tried, by God, I tried to leave him, to chase him away, but he kept plaguing me, even when not in the same house... So I thought, better be it just me. As long as you are safe."

Pieces of the story came together and the young woman had to recognize it. Her will was firm, there would be no retrieving. Even if it came to the point where the rest of the world would know all about it, she would learn to live with that, but she would not back away.

Alone again in the garden, the conversation kept coming back to her, more or less detailed, re-thinking over and over again. One thing she knew for certain. This was not the way she would end up. She would not live her life silenced, following rules that made no sense. _I_ _will not let them mold me into a frame that suits them._  
>Liz was approaching her from behind, she could hear her saying: "You know, you don't have to."<p>

Embarrassed, she realized that she must have said it out loud unconsciously. _His words, that day, right before..._ A smile she couldn't hide gave her away. "I know."

The luxuriant woman has noticed the sudden blush on her niece's cheeks. "There is nothing wrong with that. Look at me, I am perfectly happy with my life, and I did not regret my decisions. The rest of the family can't admit that to themselves, they are too busy with regretting. And still, every now and then, they come here, for a glass of sherry. To see what it is like to be me, I guess." Merry as ever, that was for certain.

"What do you think I should do now?"

"Get a nice new dress, to begin with." She paused, looking at Isabelle from head to toe. "And then live your own life. Who cares about them? If you make a mistake, at least let it be _your _mistake. I have made many, and I am still alive." The girl knew what Liz was talking about. That woman never married, but she could hardly be called a spinster. There was much more to her friendships with certain few gentlemen through the years. More important, there was much more _living_ in her life.

"Aunt... Could I stay here for a while?"  
>It would be good for her, a different taste of life as such.<br>This wasn't just an idea, it was also a well thought move. She knew exactly where she wanted to go. It was not that far from here, and she needed to see him while he was still there.

* * *

><p>The driver left her off by a small chapel, near the spot where the path was separating from the road. He was quite used to <em>not<em> asking questions when it came to the lady who was ensuring him a steady job and he was told that the rules were the same for the _mademoiselle_ too. More or less.  
>Liz knew that this stop by the chapel had nothing to do with religion, having her own share of meetings in younger days. But no foolishness, she forewarned, they would be coming back from St Pierre around six o'clock.<p>

That should give Isabelle some two hours if she hurried up. As soon as the carriage moved, she went on, remembering the way correctly. It seemed to be longer this time but she was sure, all she had to do was follow the path by the stream. A brisk pace carried her forth, it didn't take too long. The place was different now without the rain, the mud and a rush to find a shelter. How different things may seem from another perspective.  
>It was not really that remote but still isolated enough. Like him, not so easy to get to, but still right in front of one's nose.<p>

Coming closer, she couldn't see him anywhere near. She wanted to knock on the door, except for the fact that there were none. There were no shutters either. Calling his name, she heard the sound of tapping stop. There he was, by the stream, she could see his tall form rising up from the ground, tying the shoelaces along the way. She looked away noticing that he was fixing his shirt.

He stared at her in wonder, as if she was not really there, only a mirage. The fact that she came seemed unbelievable, even now.  
>After all, girls never run <em>towards<em> phantoms. But he wasn't a ghost, he reminded himself. Pacing towards her, he didn't know what to say.  
>That girl always puzzled him. <em>A girl? Look at her! <em>And suddenly, the thought of something that happened the last time they've seen each other came with a rush of blood into his head. _You have kissed her. And then you walked away before the aftermath could hit you..._

"This is a lovely surprise..." It was all he could say at that peculiar moment. "I didn't expect to see you anytime soon." He didn't know whether to hold her, or offer a hand or what ever it was that people would normally do.

She smiled. "What are you doing here alone?" She looked at him, worried. His appearance was different. The scars, once again, more cruede and pointed, red as inflamed. A sunken face unshaven, with hair groving uneven at the right side. All tousled, he was a mess.

"Some mending. It is a quite neglected place."

"I see..." She looked around, noticing what was probably his inner mess appositely transferred into the surroundings.

"Shouldn't you be in Cléon?"

"I got tired of it. Truth to be told, my mother has been staying at my aunt's estate. It is just some hour or so, of walk from here."

"Oh, we're practically neighbours!"

"We just might be. I started a legal procedure for taking that place back, you know."

"Good for you."

"I'd rather not dwell on that matter." She'd rather skip the subject entirely. "But do tell me, this must be somebody's property you're invading."

"Actually..." He scratched himself behind the neck, explaining: "... the owner is living in the village nearby. He had left this place when his wife died. We've made a deal. Some sort of a rent."

"So you have made yourself a home."

"Home.." He echoed her words a bit ironically. "I have none."

She couldn't help but to be open with him. "You didn't sound well. In the letter." He didn't look well either.

"She is dead. I'll live." He said that almost like he didn't care but it was quite obvious that it bothers him.

With an estimating look, she noticed: "M-hm. If you don't starve yourself to death. When is the last time you've eaten?" Probably on the day he has shaved, she was considerate enough not to say that out loud. There was something convenient about it, a bit catchy in a strange way.

The silence was her answer. "Yesterday. I was busy."

Not able to keep looking at him in that pitiful state she had to do something. "Finish you work, Erik. I will make sure that you do eat something today. And you _will_ tell me everything."

He led her around the place for a while, explaining what needed to be done, mostly repairing, wood material discarded all around, an organized chaos but not much was actually repaired. It was not hard to notice that he has probably been working on several tasks at the time.

"You should begin finishing what you've started, there is too much left open, Erik."

Knowing she had a point, he had to admit it: "I know."  
>But he had no clue where to start. Until he figured it out. <em>One<em> thing was almost done, the paintwork could be done afterwards.

"Wait for me."

She could swear that he had the expression of a child who has just gotten the idea for a new game or a prank. "Where are you going?"

"Just wait inside." She gave in, using the chance to find out if he keeps anything eatable in there. Some dried bacon, a few eggs. The words she had heard weeks before echoed through her head: _Typical man... dragging around... _Most likely, he didn't even care to pick up the chamipgnons that grew behind the house. Some wild onions out there as well. With a bit of inspiration he would be on a good way to stop looking like a ghost he had turned into within this past few weeks.

Startled by a loud thump of something heavy and hard against the ground she looked behind, only to find him struggling with the brand renewed door. Lifting the burden of thick hard wood, a real door this time, with a supressed exhilation and tense muscles, he has missed the hinges for a centimeter or two. Wanting to help, she rushed straight at him and caught the other side, not helping much by strength but rather with finesse, leading him precisely to the spot. They have finally done it together. It felt amazingly good, she couldn't stop smiling at their little achievement.

He was still on the outer side, checking if everything fits and then... _He knocked._ He didn't have to, really. But he did it.

Such a simple, ordinary thing. And with so much background from her dream, one of those that are never forgotten. He couldn't possibly know about that. And yet, she felt something oddly from deep within. Taking a deep breath, her arm streched out, reaching for the knob, opening at last. The air stirred along with the sound of friction, his tall form appeared in the frame. She couldn't keep her eyes away from his, caught in one breathtaking moment.

Something was in the air, he could feel it but he couldn't clear his head enough to determine it. But she was there, and she was radiant. And there was absolutely nothing to compel her, no obligation, no forcing, no threats. She has come to make sure that he is well. Smiling right at him. But differently this time, as if she sees him for the first time.

Then the moment slipped and reality stole in.

Watching him eat afterwards, she remembered Josephine's everlasting tendency to compare men with dogs: _Once you feed a stray, he'll keep following you_. She wouldn't mind it, truth to be told. A loyal friend. One that does not leave someone behind.

Leaning a cheek on her palm, elbow on the desk, it lookied like she was estimating him: "I don't understand. You rent a house. You get yourself tools. And all along you don't have a single spoon in your possession?" There was an expression on his face that seemed like he himself has just realized that.

"I know someone who would call you a typical man right now."  
>And a boy just as well, she agreed with Josephine, sometimes it seems more like a game to him than actual work.<p>

Picking up a mushroom, examining it tentatively, he was forming a naughty answer: "You know, that someone also had interesting remarks on the matter of poisoning." He had missed this. She might as well be his only link to humanity right now, but he missed her for more than that. And it was so easy to get used to it all over again.

Later on, sitting outside on the stone by the stream, he heard her steps from behind. Quiet, approaching, preparing for another question.

"Erik... What does this all mean? Have you given up on her?"

"She is dead. I can't change that."

"Have you at least talked with someone who knew her?"

"No. A few officials in the registry, a priest... Until I figured that enough is enough."

"What about neighbours, maybe she had some relatives?"

"She moved on, apparently never caring to look back. Why should I care now?"

"Because you must have left some trace in her heart."

Throwing a pebblestone into the water, he watched the circles spreading across the surface until they dissolved. Then he answered: "Maybe she simply did not have a heart."

Isabelle didn't know how to answer to this. Hardly knowing what to do, all she could come up with was: "Then you give her one."  
>Within himself, that's what she meant, to resolve it with himself. To make a story and believe it, because he came nowhere thus far and perhaps it is just a story that he needs. Still standing beside him, her hand came to his tense shoulder in solace. To let him know he was not alone.<p>

And he knew. And it bothered him somehow. Because he had managed to push away the few people who cared, it would always end the same way. And he was only human. Very human at this point, weak. He had been hungry, yes. For a touch. How easy it was to become addicted to it. Every time their hands would accidentally brush. If other people could have been considered hungry, he was nothing less than starving. Selfish from him, but he wanted it. He breathed out: "You shouldn't be this close to me."

"I know." She was so calm, unmoving her hand.

It was a torture. He wanted to _feel_ it. As he stood up, he tried to let her know: "Not entirely. You really shouldn't." _Don't you know that I always manage to ruin people who care?_

Her hand fell down by his but she did not move otherwise. So close they were. He could feel her scent and it was too much to find how he remembered it all this time, soothing and warm and... And there it was again, that strange pull between them, because she must have felt it too, leaning closer.

All this time, she didn't take her eyes from his, but now they closed on their own, feeling him near, his warmth, the coarse unshaven skin, and the lips that came down on her. Slowly at first, just enticing to open up and then parting, joining, tasting each other, exploring. It was not the innocent kiss like the last time. It grew wilder. His darting tongue sliding in, pressing against hers, letting her do the same. There was something more, the longing, the hunger, the need. She wanted it.

It became more fierce. She liked it. And it frightened her at the same time, the way he pulled her closer, his long arms on her back, on her waist... At that moment he knew no reasonable boundaries. It was too much for her, afraid of where it might lead. Stopping hesitatingly, unhurried, just like it began, she couldn't be more torn between the contrary instincts: to stay or to run from this powerful force that was swaying her on the edge of reason. She couldn't even say it out loud, only whisper, leaning her forehead against his chin for a few moments before it would all end again: "I can't."

She needed to get away, to clear her head if there was still any sense left. "I should go."

"I know." He knew he had no right. He knew what the chances would be. It was so damn hard to let go.

It was confusing just as much as it scared him. That growing need for a human touch. Her touch. Seeing Isabelle walk away this time, a glance escaping her, there was a feeling that this was not over yet. Alone again, he was standing at the same spot until she was out of sight. He couldn't fight his own instinct, and now, he could only hope that he didn't scare her away for good. He shouldn't have done this, it was not fair neither to the one he loved nor the one he needed so suddenly. He felt guilty.

Sitting down by the chapel, she couldn't stop thinking about it. She could still feel him, taste him, as if he was there with her.  
>All her senses heightend, adjusting her dress with shaky fingers, she noticed a smudgy line where his dirt-stained fingers have passed, and she shivered recalling that movement. She couldn't stand the feeling which ran through her spine ever since having realized that he was only a man. A man just like any other, with desires. She was not ready to face that fear. Collecting herself, she stepped towards the road listening to the sound of wheels against the dry bumpy ground.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

***Anchor is a symbol of many meanings: hope, peace, a safe harbour, a significant person, grounding, tranquility, faithfulness... *hint-hint* :) **

***Melancholia as a mood disorder, a state that might be explained as a depression here since this story takes time before the blossom of psychoanalysis.**


	16. Chapter 16

**The need**

It seemed like she has never even left. Holding her close, he could only guess why she came back.  
>She was silent and unmoving, just standing there, allowing him to embrace her.<br>He wondered if she's wearing it. The charm.  
>Running his finger down her cheek, past her lips, further down the soft and tender skin of her neck, he found a thin chain there. He traced it's fine surface even lower, upon the tiny ornate buttons of her blouse. Her lips trembled just a little but there was not a word .<br>There it was, the anchor, he picked it gently, brushing his thumb against it, just like she used to do with it's predecessor, while his knuckles felt the smooth warm skin just above her breasts.  
>It was a torture.<br>How he wanted to move his hand, to feel the texture and warmth of her skin beneath his palm, he was on the edge, afraid of succumbing to the want. His own skin grazed against the thin material embowering her breast, aching to cup it within his palm, so pliant and shy at the same time, he hardly noticed that his hand nearly began carrying out the desire he desperately tried to suppress within.

Suddenly he woke up in the thick darkness, finding that the pliant softness belonged to the rumpled blankets and covers he slept on, alone. As his neck hitched, he also found how the floor is harder than his own head, wishing he hadn't dismantled that bed frame after all. _You fool!_  
>This would have been nothing unusual, he had dreamed of women many times, in much more compromising and lust-driven situations. But this... It was the first time that he has seen <em>her<em> in this sort of a dream, clearly at least, and the greatest irony of all was that it was the one who has been in his arms, never suspecting this. How improper of him...

They have shared more than simply another kiss the day she came to see him. _What games are we playing, Isabelle?  
><em>If that first one could have been explained as something that just happened, the last one most certainly could not! It was a need, a desperate aching for closeness, for a moment of oblivion. And he scared her away with an unreasonable act, with possessive arms that wanted to lock her closer, and now all he had was a screaming conscience. He has betrayed Christine. He has betrayed Isabelle, placing her in this role.

Broken heart and aching body longing for very different things, that damn mind reproaching about both, he could only be torn apart. He may have been broken but he was still very much alive and only human, he'd repeated that to himself for countless times.  
>And his body knew what it was aching for as well as the easiest way to end it, he was barely even thinking now, venturing down the well-known way. A few hard strokes, a surge or two, and a demonic grin on his face drawn by tension more than release.<br>His head met the solid wood again, deliberately this time, trying to empty the mind. It didn't work. A hand flew up and dug into his hair, sighs of despair overtook him.

What a curse, that the lust could be spilled and wasted and refilled, but the _need_ within him would never be satiated.

* * *

><p>She locked herself in right after everyone retired for the evening, making sure that no one could disturb her tonight. She needed her privacy. Dropping the unnecessary clothing, leaving only the airy linen, letting her hair fall down her back free, she nestled on the sofa and stared at her fingers. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine.<br>She hadn't done this for quite some time. It may have started as something that made her try out her own ability, later on as something she would have been doing only when completely alone, or as some strange release of the hidden. Right now it grew into a plain bold need.

Feeling the smooth surface, she ran her palm over the sheet and then her fingers seemed to know on their own what exactly they were to do.

The pen left light thin traces at first but as she was losing herself inside her own creation, her movements were becoming more sure and clear. The shoulder, the loose hair falling down, the curves of the waist turning into another direction, forming a hip... A young woman, in a simple nightdress, her back turned to the observer and with a slight bow of her head and a little imagination, her unseen gaze seemed to be directed down towards the threshold. One of the hands on her upper arm, bracing herself, the other one somewhere on her chest. She was waiting, anticipating. The edge of a bed with creased sheets, the candle, the nightstand, an apple and a pear upon it...  
>She bit her lip while drawing a door frame, remembering the light, the way it had been penetrating inside so daring, at that moment before she had awoken. She was smiling at the thought as her fingertips blurred the darkened corners and mild shadows, trying to evoke the illusion of the candlelight melting the darkness away.<p>

She ignored the cramping in her shoulders and the heaviness of her body, focused on finishing the sketch. She wouldn't quit until she was satisfied, knowing that there would be no rest as the new details should be appearing inside her mind, perhaps a bit obsessively. It took her a long hour before she put the pen and the paper down and finally crawl under the covers, thinking of that dream again. Thinking of him. _What have you done to me?_

She recalled the conversation in the carriage that day, right afterwards: "Is he handsome?"  
>Liz surely never cared to beat around the bush. And she'd decided to rob Isabelle of a precious moment that girl had meant to keep for herself. Making notice of her aunt's merry tone, she hadn't been sure if she'd heard that question correctly.<br>"The one you are thinking about. The same one you so _improperly_ went to see? "

Of course, how could she ever have thought that no one would ask about her particular friend in need? Contemplating what the answer should be, she'd decided for another slight distortion of the truth. "He's got the most mysterious eyes I've ever seen."

"That sounds appealing." It had been that simple for Liz. If she'd know how he was tall and strong as well, the woman's imagination would go wild.

The truth was easily variable.

To avoid presumptions and end this game, she had decided to make it clear: "His face is scarred."  
>As Liz had given her the most quizzical look, she had lied about it: "An old wound. From childhood." Well, it hadn't been that much different from the truth in the end.<p>

"Is it bad?"

"It depends on what you care to see, I guess."

"Does it bother you?"

She had taken a moment before answering: "No. It doesn't."

"Good. Because you never seem to smile more sincerely than in occasions when I catch you alone. But this was an exception, you've said he wasn't well. I can't pretend to be your chaperone while I don't know whose company you are in. I'd like to meet him."

"It is not what you think. He's a friend." _A friend who kissed you, you little fool! And you did not resist._

Her aunt seemed to have more faith than herself, wondering if there was any purpose in trying to hold that girl down. "Your wings have been trimmed before you even knew you could fly. One of this days you will find that the feathers grew back, and you'll flutter away."

There was no further explanation needed. The girl knew what was hidden behind those words. And yet, she could not see herself spreading her wings for the flight seemed terrifying. She had no idea how to accept the wind caressing her body after it had been taken down by a storm so roughly.

She had kissed a man but feared whatever desire that might have been there, stunned to find that the arms which had meant safety could so easily turn into a springe of lust, for the way he drew her closer made her feel both shielded and seized. There was that inner brake which she did not know how to rule, nor whether she wanted to loosen it.  
>And there was also that stirring feeling deep within her body, the motion which only intensified when she'd leaned her forehead into his chin and noticed the movement of his throat as he swallowed hard, and his frame became so uptight. She had felt the hot stream of air coming out his mouth and fluttering between the strands of her hair. And she had needed to leave but at the same time a part of her wished to stay.<p>

And perhaps it did stay out there with him, a piece of her mind, a whiff of her soul.

_What are you doing now?_

The morning brought a different light and with it, another perspective. The fruits she had drawn on the nightstand unintentionally, now seemed to be showing a hidden meaning she hadn't even realized at the time. An apple as a symbol of temptation, and a pear of affection. That Isabelle from last night seemed to play tricks on her.  
>With one look, she noticed the imperfection of the last night's doing. There is no chance that her fingers would reach the other shoulder this way, she muttered comments to herself, examining the rest of the image. Yes, there were mistakes all over and it was frustrating, it seemed so good last night! Proportions, composition, order, symmetry, the things that were always so important to her were suddenly not there anymore. She would have to start all over again and knowing herself, it would be a terribly long day before she could finally make everything fit together later, when finally alone.<br>No – she decided – there would be no starting anew, she'd take it as it is and adjust the lines and shadows.

She thought for a second and silly as it seemed, she remembered her need to make everything fit. _His face is certainly not a sample of these things. _It even made her grin, it was crazy, thinking of him the way she would think of a sketch._ And somehow I like that. As if rules are not applied to him, even when it comes to his face._

Rules can be tiresome.

Day after day, it was all the same for her. A sense of duty and daughterly love made her try her best to lure Therese out of her room. Long walks, meaningless chatter, difficult subjects, hours and hours of effort to convince her mother that she has to move on, and all along, Isabelle herself felt captured in a circle. She has made steps that led her to another point where she'd get stuck.

* * *

><p>He went to Luc's place earlier than usual. <em>This is what my life turned into? <em>At first, it was just about that house. After a few irregular visits regularly accompanied by some cognac, he began feeling welcomed there. So, he'd invite himself. The old man was apparently glad to see someone, anyone other than his daughters who would bring him some soup and clean up a bit before they'd leave back home, and neighbours approximately his age but far more doited.

Old Luc, obviously oblivious to his own affinity to forgetting things, repeating the same stories again after a while, started talking about his wife _again_. His obedient listener found something new each time, at first he had thought that it was Luc's wife who was referred to as a fiery brunette, but putting pieces together after a few versions heard, he realized that the madame in question wasn't the one. The brunette must have been an old love. And Luc must have had quite a few of those, real or fictitious, because their descriptions altered each time.

Erik would sometimes talk as well, about women he had never had, about his journeys, sometimes about life, it didn't matter because a senile old man would probably not remember a damn thing. This way, there was somebody to talk to, without the usual awkwardness. In a way, a perfect friend for a man with a past like his.  
>At least that was what he thought, until Luc asked him something «about the singer, the curly one», Erik almost choked hearing the question. And today's lament ended with different words, a bit melodramatic. "Any half-decent artist with a broken bleeding heart would have dedicated his life to worshiping and grieving such a love, never even daring to hope he might move on with his life. I couldn't even do that for her. I couldn't stay in the shadows watching her shine."<p>

"They can do that to a man..." That was Luc's answer as he poured himself another glass with a shaky hand, spilling some liquid over the edge. "And what about the redhead?"

For the second time, he was caught unprepared. Never mind forgetting things like whether he ate today or not, the old man apparently had very good memory when it came to young women. "That is a completely different story. She is probably the one whom I should _not_ be thinking about."

"Why the hell not?"

_Don't you know when to stop old man? I thought you don't remember these things!_ "Because not so long ago I would kill to have a woman like her. That girl does not need another beast in her life." Because of Christine, he did go insane. Forget love, years ago, he would have done it just to have _someone_ who might have cared about him.

"It seems like she's on your mind more than you'd like to admit." Considering the unexpected blows the old man was giving him today, it seemed like Erik was the one more likely to die of a heart-attack. He had to go while his body still obeyed his mind.

* * *

><p>The excitement she felt when she received another envelope, turned into a massive stone in her stomach, replacing the smile with sickly pallor. The handwriting was unknown to her but the content left no space for doubt. With disgust she went through the lines repeatedly.<p>

"_Precious mademoiselle..."_ "You bastard!" "_I must confess I'm rather surprised by the latest news that you are making steps towards interfering with the rightfulness of..."_ She couldn't keep pretending she was calm anymore. Her teeth clenched trying not to tear the paper yet. "_Need I remind you, unfounded accusations are not insignificant and can lead to much inconvenience with the possibility of an unexpected outcome..." _The audacity! She knew exactly what he was referring to!_ "Should you proceed, we will be compelled to settle the matter in private ways..."_

She crumpled the letter throwing it into the wall, crouching by the bed, digging fingers into her hair, swaying back and forth - something in that obsessive motion kept her from going utterly mad - just like the child beggars she had seen rocking on the cold streets, she felt just as miserable and knew that the one thing she'd beg for would be a moment of peace that just wouldn't come. "You filthy bastard!"

The maddening ticking of the clock echoed through the room. She felt her conscience die a little with every minute as the wish to simply erase him from this world increased. She couldn't do that and knew it very well, but the malicious idea wouldn't just leave.

Studying the envelope, she found that the letter has been sent forward from Cleón, meaning he had no idea where she is right now. She smirked, feeling in control, guessing what his next move might be, and most likely soon. And she'd be waiting. If only there weren't for that fear which threatened to freeze her.

An hour later, she was not any calmer, lying in bed was useless. She wrapped herself in a mantle and headed quietly into her mother's room, expecting to find her asleep. She was wrong again. That woman who was spending her days in aimless lament like a bad dream dragging on for far too long, has apparently been used to nights of waiting for the hours to pass.

"What is it, dear?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to see if you need anything."

"You look pale."

"Mother... There is something I wanted to ask you." She got the full attention, perhaps more than she'd actually like. Right to the matter, it would be the simplest thing to do. "If things should turn out in a way that I have to go away one of this days..." It was just an idea but it was becoming more and more realistic. "Would you forgive me if I left?"

"Are you going away already? Where to?" It was far too soon.

"I can't tell you that."

"Are you in trouble? Why would you have to leave? You are not obliged to stay here for me, but I thought that things were going better between us now. We could live together, a least for a while? I thought you could look past... "

"I forgive you, _maman_." She had said it, finally. And it was not a daughterly duty, to forgive a parent, all she saw now was a woman who had been incapable of dealing with the misfortune they had been granted with, because no one had ever taught her mother how to chase away the beast, only hide from it.  
>A woman whose life had been run by others, so when it was time to take it back, she hadn't known how. A mother protects a child, and hers has done the only thing she knew.<p>

"I do love you. But if I should be gone without a firm explanation, I want you to know that I am well and thinking of you. Don't ask me any more for now." She held her closer, wanting to convince her that she held no more resentment.  
>"Just try to get well, promise me you will, I hate to see you so sad. But I can't stay, or I will give way to this sadness myself."<p>

"At least stay with me for the evening? I thought maybe we could talk. You know we need to."

She smiled, sadly. The roles change, sooner or later.  
>The one that cared for the other now needed care herself, the hand that held a child making it's first steps, now needed suppost herself. If never before, then this would be the one chance to see her in a different light.<br>Perhaps her own desire to _live_ could seep into the one who seemed to be lacking of it.

* * *

><p>The feeling of being watched has accompanied her ever since she has left the house earlier on. Now, within a church, she tried to recall the last time she attended a service, it has been months ago, before she had set out... Well, not much had changed about it, just like they always say - history likes to repeat itself, so do the preachments, and still, if nothing has been learned, maybe there was something amiss with the lecture.<br>Her lips soundlessly moved as the words of the gathered believers were meant to be spoken, but it wasn't truly a prayer, not from her mouth.  
>Tired of listening to the priest's sermon which seemed to have no ending, she felt a tug on her sleeve. A boyish hand passed a folded piece of paper with a short note. Recognizing the handwriting, she suddenly decided that she needs to step outside, leaving Therese and Liz inside. Seeking for a shelter in the shade of an old linden, hearing steps, closely watching, she waited.<p>

She could not believe her eyes when she saw him coming from behind the corner. _He is here!_ A very different man, nothing like the unkempt one she'd found the other day. Stepping towards him she studied his form - all suited up and upstanding.  
>She held the gaze on his face. At least the part she could see. There was a gauze bandage hiding the most part of his scarred side. Her first thought was that he'd been injured but her worries were soon dismissed, he seemed to be much better than last time. Clean, freshly shaven, well-dressed in that dark-grey suit, firm but genteel. She couldn't remember ever seeing him like that. A true gentleman. It was both a shock and a pleasant surprise.<br>He came out of nowhere, just like the day she'd met him. A devil or a sorcerer from some legend would appear just like that out of nowhere... Of course, no rules applied to this one, she remembered.

He came unannounced, uninvited, but by all means was he welcome!

He kissed her hand, a nice _proper _gesture of respect and fondness, restraining himself from blurting: "Your obedient servant."  
>He came to do the right thing, and that would mean an apology for his unmindful reaction, hoping that a moment of weakness would not cost him a dear friend.<p>

Her cheeks were burning, she was well aware of it. All that had happened between the two of them in those moments before she'd left off so suddenly, all of it came back to her once again for the unbeknown time, along with her blood racing into her head and murmuring in her ears. This time _he_ came to _her_. "You're here."

They weren't alone for long. Liz came out to make sure she was all right. Noticing the woman coming closer, he blurted under his voice: "Damn, I really hoped to catch you alone."

She widened her eyes hearing the curse that escaped him. Trying to reprimand, she couldn't hide her amusement: "Heathen, do sacral objects mean nothing to you?!"

"Sure they do." He cleared his throat speaking in a normal tone now, so the approaching lady could hear him quite clearly: "I like the architecture. The arches are fascinating."

A rubenesque lady came to greet him. Not her mother, he concluded. But there were some traces of similarity, the hair, the expression perhaps, definitely not the shape, he refrained from smiling at the latter notion. But a winsome lady, indeed.  
>He quickly took his hat off, finding himslef in the company of a woman whose surprise and curiosity could be read from one long inquisitive look. He'd love to return with the same, not in a spiteful way, more like a habit.<br>It didn't take much to realize that it was for the best that Isabelle comes up with a story of how they came to know each other. He barely caught up with a formal introduction, taking the role of «the kind gentleman who had taken care that she travelled safely». A «role» made it easier for him.  
>This is her kind, he thought, she is not the girl you've met before, alone and simple, this is where I have no right to call for her, this is who could tell her to keep away from someone like myself.<p>

A wide smile spread across madame's face as she concluded that he must be _that friend_. Wanting more information, she started a small-talk. Carefully avoiding the matter of bandages, she couldn't control occasional unaware looks. Aside from that unfortunate matter of the scars unseen, she found him well-mannered and debonair.

Nevermind the fact that deep within he was softly cursing all women's need to inquire and chatter. He was polite, in a most pleasant voice. He was as honest as one could possibly be in the given position and gave away just enough to satisfy the supposedly common standards of becoming acquainted with decent people. Years of looming and observing the residents and their visitors in his Opera house have finally paid off.  
>Secretly, he had to admit his weakness for women's attention as long as things were going well.<br>It seemed almost ridiculous that she hadn't mentioned the bandage, one would ask such thing, and it clearly meant that Liz knew something. He only wondered how much, and how the matter influences her approach.  
>She was letting him get away with it. Another vixen. It made things easier, as «normal» as otherwise it could never be, and in an odd way, he liked it.<p>

Isabelle couldn't get rid of the tension, waiting to be left alone with him, within the eyesight – she couldn't change that circumstance. But out of the earshot, there would be no compromise about that little thing.  
>As Liz was excusing herself, she pulled the young lady aside. "He <em>is<em> serious but quite charming. I'll be waiting inside."

They finally got the chance to talk. Her mouth was sealed, she couldn't think of a single line that would not somehow lead back to that kiss. They sat outside on the bench, turned away from the entrance. She couldn't shake away the feeling of being watched by at least one pair of eyes on their back.

"I came to apologize..." He started talking first, finding the right words. Side by side, they couldn't even look straight at each other's eyes as freely as they wanted to. "I shouldn't have allowed myself such boldness, I... wasn't myself."

"I wasn't myself either."

"You have left so suddenly, it never even came to my mind at the time that I must have crossed the line in a way that must have been shocking for you. I am sorry."

"Don't be. That is... not your fault. I am not upset."

"You have every right to be."

"Try to understand, I'd never allowed a man to come this close to me. And sometimes it seems like there are no rules regarding you."

"Isabelle, I wouldn't do anything..." _«To hurt you» _was left in the air, unspoken. Having harmed too many people in his lifetime, he would not allow it. But he'd rather not dare to gage. He didn't get the chance to finish the sentence as her answer rushed ahead:

"I know."

His eyes grazed the place on her chest where the appendant would be falling, and looked away almost immediately before she could notice. She was wearing it. The rest of that dream played again within his feverish mind which desperately sought distraction of any kind.

There was a moment of silence hanging between them, just waiting to be disturbed. She couldn't stand it.

"You have been following us?"

"You noticed. I wouldn't intrude at your house. I waited for a chance to talk to you alone, I wouldn't want to cause inconvenience."

"Is that what the bandages are for?"

He gulped, why, admit it, ashamed. "Yes."

She said nothing. Looking at him, she was letting her mind to create a picture of what should have been his face. Maybe for the first time doing so without reservation. There was a tiny cut, probably from shaving, right on the edge of his jaw, making a thin red trace, disturbing the order of the left side. The sound of his voice made her wondering mind come back to reality.

"How long will you be staying here?"

"I don't know. At first it was meant to be only for a couple of days. Now, I _need_ to stay."

"Why would you need to?"

No one else knew about it, in order to avoid the fuss. But she could tell him. "I got a letter from _him_. And I just know that he will go _there_."

"So you have chosen a strategic position, dare I say?"

"There is not much I can do. Not really. It is frightening." It felt as if he was reading her like an open book. Not knowing what to do, but driven to the point where she had to do something or she would be lost, running in circles forever. Her hand sought his that lay clutching on the edge of the bench. No one could see how she needed him by her side.


	17. Chapter 17

**Flared up**

He was tempted. It would have been easy. If only he tried to.  
>Silent. Quick. Unexpected.<br>It would not have been his first time.

He kept an eye on the object of his interest as he moved around. The ire rose gradually from within.

It was not the wrath that had accumulated and boiled with every assault he had ever endured. It wasn't the rage which had exploded when his songbird had betrayed him. This was a different sort of anger and indignation.  
>Lately, he liked to think of Isabelle as one of his own kind, <em>if<em> there was such an undefinable thing as «his kind». Ever since the realization, he wanted to shield her. _That is what one does with his own, isn't it?!_

Right below him was a man whose kind he detested.

Maybe because Erik himself never had committed that sort of a crime.  
>Maybe because in his madness he might have had been close enough to it, and loathed to admit it.<p>

That angered him even more. What are the limits that determine such things? Are there any clear lines at all? What does it take to break them?  
>Is it the blind rage? Or is it a conscious cruelty after all? At times on the very edge, he had experienced both. But no. This was a different sort of monster.<p>

He couldn't help but see it from his own point of view. There was nothing wrong with this man's appearance. Looking like a gentleman on the outside, wealthy, pretentious, an arrogant snob.  
>He had a face. A <em>whole<em> face. A face which would not have lived a life filled with rejection. And the man has been rotten inside.

Hadn't her life also been taken in a way, at least the part which «should have been»?  
>If she feared encountering this man, and at the same time shared her path with one like himself, then how cruel the crime, how rabid it must have had been?! Such an atrocious thing that this frenzied monster had dared to interrupt the youth of a girl, more child than a woman.<p>

_I know what you have done to her. And you don't know I'm right behind you. It would be so damn easy._

He gripped the railing of a balcony harder, it was maddening to be there, to know, to have the prey within reach. He forgot all about that idea how he couldn't kill anymore. All that held him in place was the awareness that he mustn't. He mustn't do a thing. Just like a dog on a leash, it would only take one word to obey and attack.

The one who held the rein had told him that she herself did not know what to do anymore.

_I can't drag you into my Hell, Isabelle. _

Creating a mental map of the estate, remembering every corner, he found some points out of sight. Closing his eyes, he fortified the details imprinted in his memory. It was a well developed skill which couldn't be forgotten, a life that used to depend on such ability could only perfect it.  
>He was getting ready to take off, taking the opportunity to jump down as the prey moved inside completely oblivious of it's luck.<p>

He flinched into the shadows, thinking of things he could do to the scumbag before killing him. No real harm would be done to anyone involved, with only a little bit of imagination. No one would have to know, not even her, after all, people can disappear just like that - without a trace.  
>And as for himself, well, what difference could <em>one<em> more on Erik's list of sins truly make? This time quite justifiably! Hardly a crime! But in the end, he had to hold at bay.

That damn evolving conscience of his, now allies with liability and loyalty!

* * *

><p>It was all different ever since the day they had talked.<br>There had been days when Isabelle thought she'd shatter into pieces, but knowing he's somewhere out there gave her courage to keep herself together. She had no idea how to tell him that she needed him, reaching out for his hand that day. They had touched, just for a while but almost enough.

_Almost_. It had felt so good.

The way his uptight grip hesitated to release the edge of the bench before opening up, letting her skin graze his, the surface of their palms so sensitive to the contact, sliding against one another. All along, she wondered whether he is feeling it the same way, so delicate, so aware, the skin on the fingertips created to explore every furrow and elevation, to feel the warmth... She had been so glad to have kept her gloves off.  
>Their fingers have intertwined firmly as he finally spoke up, silently but firmly, almost like regretting something:<br>"I'm a ruin, Isabelle. I've done things beyond reason. I wish I had known you earlier."

_Things beyond reason..._

Her finger traced the scar below the firm hill beneath his sturdy thumb, the same one he had earned working on that roof some two months ago, when she had known him for only a short time.  
>"You would not have been the same man." <em>And I surely would not have been the same, look what you've done to me, I'm forgetting my own walls while I'm trying to figure out the puzzle that you are.<em>

He was not here by her side now, and even so, she felt much calmer. And yet, it felt like a calm before the storm.

She got a note after supper. More important, it was delivered by the same boy who had done it in the church.  
>It meant Erik must still be somewhere near. Out there.<br>Within minutes she excused herself and ventured outside for a walk. Alone. It turned into a game, she pretended to be strolling nonchalantly, at the same time straining her vision and hearing, in hope of noticing him somewhere outside through the fence, expecting him to show up out of the blue.

Still, he managed to surprise her. The voice came from right beside her, using one short moment in which her attention turned to a boy walking a pair of greyhounds.  
>She could swear that he was next to her ear. "Such a beautiful evening, isn't it?"<p>

Her pupils widened suddenly aware of his presence. _How could that woman ever compare you to a dog when you're obviously lurking around like a wolf! How did you get over that fence?!_

"Yes, like it was meant to be made for a nice long walk." A lovely little pretense how life is that simple couldn't hurt. She knew he came for a reason this time. He would be her eyes out there, he had said that day.

They found a lonely spot in a distant corner of the garden. Her peculiar friend seemed to have a good eye for lonely spots. No one could see them from the house.  
>Turning her back to him, pensive, she asked: "He's there, isn't he?" She already knew the answer.<p>

"Since yesterday."

Finding the wrought iron fence suddenly very interesting, her fingers traced one spiral pattern to it's center. His eyes observed the movements of her smooth thin fingers tracing stylized and ornamented _"S"_ and _"C"_ resembling shapes.

Such nice ornaments, he mused, but still - bars. Was this kind of life a fictional cage for her?

"What will you do?"

"I have a message for him this time." And she had no words in mind.

"I could help you with that." Maybe this was the main reason he was here, maybe it was something that strange woman who had sent them off together had intended from the beginning.

"I have to go there."

"And once there?"

She paused for a deep intake of evening air, looking resigned. "Take something from him."

Her head bowed slightly and it gave him an unintentional view of the nape of her neck, right under the neat twist of her hair. He liked it loose.  
>But this was a lovely sight, caught in the situation of burning to touch her while his heart still ached. And he knew that it is not simply lust, a grown man that he was supposed to be, he could admit such desire to himself. That would have been easier to deal with. It became more than attraction and right there was the source of his guilty feeling.<br>Remembering what he wanted to ask next, he dismissed the thought. It seemed like one of those points when it was time to stop questioning, he had learned that much.

She turned back to face him_. I need you._ It was not an easy thing to say. Leaving everything behind seemed far easier.

"You should not go alone." He would never let her go alone.

"Are you still settled in that house?"

"Yes."

She smiled sadly. In all that anxious mood, it lightened her up a bit. How predictable of him. What other answer could she have possibly expected? If he was a puzzle, this would be some hint of a pattern.

He had a proposition. "I can stay around, keep watch, accompany you. Any way that suits you."

"No. Let me come to you. Soon. They already know I will be leaving them."

For days now, she was setting the ground for a lie, a deception, a reason to disappear for a while: a «trip to Rouen» to resolve some final accordance about receiving her rent, do something useful, find a place where she could start all over again.  
>All in all, to simply have a chance to <em>leave..<em>. and _live_. With the letter which had come from that man, she has had enough. No more.

"Leaving?" Suddenly he turned more serious. Leaving where? Alone? "What does your family think about it?"

They were not happy, a young woman on her own, even if she was not obliged to have a chaperon, might seem unusual. She never cared much about society, never thought that this was something scandalous. "They could have done it without me up until now." A muttered ironical laughter coming from deep down sounded like an attempt to conceal the way she really felt. "The truth is, I feel trapped here, I want to get away. And they owe me at least that much."

She looked into his eyes as if trying to find something there, inside, behind. "They listen but they do not hear me."

She had been told her many times that some day, sooner or later, she would have to start living again. She wanted to take a chance. "I do not want to live like a shadow."

* * *

><p>No words seemed right to describe the feeling. Anger, anguish, abhorrence, so much more than that. She tried to find strength and, most of all, reason to determinate what exactly she was doing. It seemed unreal and the massive stone strangulated within her stomach made her want to turn her back.<p>

There she was, at that blasted estate, sneaking around through the darkness. Even though she was the one who should be in the role of a hunter, she felt like a prey.

It cut her to the bone when she entered the horse stable, that accursed place! She had an idea that it might feel this way, that was the reason she has left Erik outside. She needed to be alone. Her eyes went wide, adjusting to the semi-darkness, illuminated only by a dim light of one lamp, and she couldn't fight the awful feeling.

_It happened here, right here._  
>The sound of her steps was breaking the peacefulness which went undisturbed until now, except for the rustle and sounds that would come from horses.<p>

The wooden railing was still there, where she had held herself from falling when that man had hit her and threw her down. All the same, changed only by the years. She stood at the exact spot, looking onto the ground with loathing and despise. _Damn you._

She couldn't stand it. The nausea and the abhorrence. Tears of despair filled her eyes, defying her actual volition, and then turned into tears of fury. _Why me?!_

The echoes of that awful pain felt too real. Her body triggered a spasm, defending itself instinctively.

Her teeth clenched as her hand flew up to her neck, rubbing the skin roughly, frantically, all the way to the collarbone, trying to wipe off something that was not on the surface of her skin. Knowing that the sensation was coming from deep within, she could only feel miserable.

Walking through the corridor, she observed the boxes which held those noble animals. Her horse was no longer there, it was no surprise to her, probably dead and gone for a long time, perhaps even killed by his own hand. Taking a handful of hay, she approached one of them, getting an estimating but thankful whinny in return. Talking to the mare gently, she allowed herself inside, patting her strong muscular body, introducing herself, placing a saddle on top of her back, leading her out of the box by the reins, encouraging her with soothing words.  
>"Come on, that's it, good girl. You're mine, don't you know that?"<p>

She did not lead the animal out in the open, letting her make a few steps through the stable instead. The girl herself entered another box, luring another horse, saddling it, allowing it to walk around confused by it's newly encountered almost-freedom. The two horses snooped as if greeting, not knowing where to go or what to do.  
>The lack of commands confused the beings used to them.<br>She hurried up, letting the rest of animals out, one by one, until they were all unleashed and bewildered, taking their reins off, setting them free, patting them, making them walk in irregular circles, a turmoil rising among them.  
>"I know, I know... I'm nervous too."<p>

She felt eyes on her before even hearing a sound.

There were muffled steps behind her and by the sound she knew they were not coming from a man she wished them to be. The anger inside her flared up and grew into a rage that set her gaze into one of a wounded animal. She turned around in a snap. She said nothing, buried at the spot, not a single movement that would announce her backaway.

"You should be." It was that man.

She didn't respond.

_Gervais._

He grew much older through the years, but still kept his snobbish posture. The very sight of him caused sickness and fright but she had no intention to run. Sensing she is not alone, knowing it would probably take only one loud scream so the man whom she has left outside would come rushing in, she did her best to stay calm.

"Well, well, well... What to Hell are you doing here?"

She would not answer. All she had to say could be contained in solely one word.

_Taking what's mine. _Still no answer, not a word, giving him a look of hatred, still standing in one spot. How she despised him!  
>Despise was even fiercer than actual hatred.<p>

It felt like the consciousness has been kicked outside of her body - observing this girl outdaring a man in front of her.  
>Her knees shaking along with her thighs, almost ready to run. She cursed inside her mind because she did not want to show the dread she felt. The tremor may have come from fear but the anger, the wrath only made it intense.<p>

He took another step towards her, not averting his eyes from hers. Wishing she had the physical strength of a man to attack and kick him to the ground, to take it out on him like a man would do, she knew her chances were little as it is. He was bigger, unequally stronger, it wasn't fair now, it had been inhuman back then... And her ire blazed in a flash of a memory.  
>But red-blooded cats often chase dogs away, don't they? Some advantage, that was what she needed. Her hand clutched something hard behind her back.<br>At the same time she realized that _the_ corporeal force of a man was outside, ready and waiting, all she had to do was call out.  
><em>It only takes one scream. <em>

Not a sound. That's how he had first wanted it done years ago, Isabelle recalled: she had disobeyed and fought and screamed. It had thrilled him all the more. He had been stronger.  
>She remembered how he had pinned her down snarling out: «Go ahead! Scream!», knowing that nobody would be there to hear once the staff had been dismissed.<br>The pictures were following one after another inside the whirl of bewildered memories. No matter the effort and energy she had put into one mission to crawl away and free herself, it had all been in vain, how it had seemed to give him more strength instead. She had truly thought he'd kill her. Where had such hatred come from? The only escape she had had was to leave her broken body and lock herself inside her mind, her wet eyes wincing in pain and horror, shutting out, closing firmly, pretending to be mute and blind in her agony.  
>Obsessively, she had repeated it like a litany: «This is not happening. This is not real. This is not me.»<p>

But the secret prayer of the despairing one had gone to dull ears, no one ever answered, leaving the girl forsaken in that dark little corner of mind.

And for the years that came she tried to pretend that it had not been real. In vain. _Curse you. To Hell!_

With another step forward he was mocking her: "I see you haven't changed one bit, still the same impertinent brat... Is there nothing you want to say? After all this time? "

The voice, the sound that came out kicked by a massive force of air coming from deep within her chest, formed only one word. One word which contained a hundred meanings:

"NO!"

"_No! I will not waste words on you!"_

"_No! I will not forgive you!"_

"_No! I will not let you lay your hands on me again!"_

"_No! I will not forget what you did to my mother!"_

"_No! I do not want to remember you every time I let a man touch me!"_

"_No! Because you don't seem to understand the meaning of that word!"_

"_No! No more!"_

His snide sneer kicked her into the awareness of present time as he was taking her in. She felt his crazy eyes trailing up and down her body, then breaking off surprised on her legs shaping her trousers. _How dare you!_ As he took one more step forward, she found that she was holding tight to the hayfork.  
><em>Not another move!<br>_One fast decent stroke and she might personally send him falling onto the spear of the Devil. She wouldn't say a word but she let it be known with a movement, aiming towards him. She did not want to but she was prepared to do it. If only he dares to touch her, it will be the last time!

In the corner of her mind came a slight distraction, a shadow moving further afront, in the darkness. In that tiny lack of focus a pair of hands flew towards her and grasped at nothing. Her fast reflexes made her start aside.

Upset by his own failure, Gervais tried to both confound her and cover up his own surprise: "You know, you always had better legs than..." He never finished that sentence.

He never even noticed a tall dark shadow crouching behind and falling upon him ferociously, something swift choking him by the throat. The rampant shadow kicked, dragged and strangled, there was no escape from it and resistance only made it grow more frantic.

She was taken aback. _Erik!_ He was not supposed to come in yet, she has left him outside for a reason, this was the very place where it had happened!  
>She did not want him in here, feeling like he could see it too, every picture that was showing up in her storming mind. If that had to be real for her again, by God, it would be easier if it wasn't known to him.<p>

All of his wild instincts flared up at once: to defend and protect, to overpower, to _kill_ if that's what it takes.

His prey had risen hands to it's neck in a futile effort to set itself free from his grasp, fighting and struggling intensely, trying to breathe. The phantom shook him severely, choking and striking like a savage beast, kicked him against the wall, forcing him to kneel on the ground, no matter how hard the prey struggled.  
>It wasn't supposed to be quick and easy.<br>If nothing, it would be painful.  
>Erik did not bother to think of him as a human, just a creature, holding him down in a sinewy grip, burying that face into the ground. Looking up with blazing eyes, he was waiting for her to say something. It would take only one word from her and he would gladly send him to Hell. Even if it meant signing his own death sentence, this time it would be for a good reason.<p>

She was staring at the scene in front of her in disbelief. She has missed to notice his presence too.  
>And now for the first time she could truly realize that this man had killed before.<br>It was a dreadful revelation, even though she had known the bold fact before.

This arms that she sought comfort in, had taken lives.

As though only now, after having agreed to a contract with the Devil, did she notice the small print.  
>She agreed, yes, but she hadn't signed it yet. Would he concede to an annex?!<br>He had promised her that he would have done things differently now, if only he could change the course of time. She would not let him falter. Not for _this._

"No."

She did her best to keep cool, stepping closer. He was unmoving but he did not release the man beneath him. Not making a sound, she was assuring him with her eyes that this was enough. Even if a part of her still wished to cause the hurt or, afraid to admit, even erase the tormentor from this world, she was willing to be done with it.  
>She just wanted it to end.<p>

Life is full of compromise, she speculated, this would certainly be one of her greatest.

_No more, Erik. _

He did not move a finger, giving her a second to think it over.

Then she came up closer, throwing only a fleeting angry gaze of despise towards the man pinned to the ground. He was struggling to inhale with utmost panic in his eyes, begging to be released. _How does it feel to be the helpless one? Look at yourself, you are pitiful! You are not worth it._

Knowing there must be a way of making him listen, her hand reached out for Erik's shoulder with confidence, with absolutely none of the insecurity she would usually feel. He seemed to have turned into a stone, no movement, no release of that deadly grip. Then he loosened a little as she ran her hand to his shoulderblade and then led it back up firmly._ Let go. Maybe I can't, but you can._

Unlocking his grip, he made sure that at least there was a reminder left, an unmistakable warning, a rough pull of a rope burning a notch into the neck of his prey. Still unsure if he should, he let him stumble back down.  
>Rising upwards, Erik obediently followed the one who became his guide, just as he has been her guardian.<p>

Leading him to the pair of saddled horses, she put the reins right into his hands. He just stood there and watched her step away. Her look went all over the building, the boxes, the beams, the walls, the roof. With a bitter farewell, mutely, she directed the rest of the horses towards the exit, encouraging them on their way out.

Then she took the lamp, swinging it back and forth, lightly at first, like a child playing with something new. That something which was usually banned, and now the child sneaked it's way into doing it. Gradually, subconsciously, the swaying amplified and...

Wanting to help her get up onto her horse he approached, just for a second turning his attention to the man standing up a few meters away, cursing and sticking one hand to the wall, the other one to his neck...  
>And then for a moment there was only a game of lights and shadows.<p>

She flung the petroleum lamp into a heap of dry hay and the fire spread all over it, consuming more and more. _I couldn't wash it away... Let it burn._

He had never thought her capable of doing this. Confused, he looked at her briefly in disbelief, turning his eyes back to the fire. _Why do you keep reminding me of what I've done?_

The Gates of Hell, he thought, disorientated, blunt.

As if being roughly kicked out of the state of numbness back into cruel reality, he became aware. _Christine... _There was the great hall of the Opera bursting in flames because of his foul doings. The stampede of an aghast audience wildly pushing their way out.  
>Had there been any justice, he would have been combusted in that fire, that magnificent building as his only tombstone...<br>An anguished growl came out of the deep of his lungs. Once again jammed, caught in the past unfolding before his empty eyes, he knew that - sentenced in advance - he hadn't been supposed to survive that night.  
>What futility felt like back then... He could just as well stay in here.<p>

How the capricious Fortuna turned that wheel all over again!

He just stared at the fire until he saw her straddling the mare in a fast climb, with elegant experience. She looked glorious, hair tied loosely has never been more red than in this moment, glaring under the light of flames.  
>She rode past him, her hand inviting him to follow. And he would follow anywhere, away from his own Hell.<p>

She slowed down by the exit, fighting the urge to run over Gervais as he stepped into her way demanding that she gets down. Looking at him from high above, almost mocking, defying, there was only one word she would indulge him with, cold and firm and warning:

"No!"

Furious, he caught the harness, trying to grab her and regretting it the very instant.  
>As a strike of lightning, a sharp burning pain went through his head, pulsating and penetrating through the skin, pounding at his brain as he fell down on his knees once more. He covered his eye trying to wipe off the blood, only to find that he can't open it. "Bitch!"<p>

Trying to suppress the insane need to laugh out, a mad little laughter escaped her anyway.  
>She looked at the horsewhip still clutched in her hand, realizing the consequences. <em>Oh my God, what have I done? <em>Without a thought, only an act based on instinct.

She felt the sudden urge to run away. _Erik?!  
><em>There he was, riding out, surrounded by fire - and somehow it seemed befitting - a sinner passing through the ordeal of flames.

She knew what she saw tonight, everything he had told her became real.  
><em>That is how it goes with Erik. All or nothing.<em>  
>It was a terrific, and yet, such an enthralling image. It would stick in her mind, rather than that wild fear that shook her when with one last look she saw the whole damned stable flare up. The moments seemed like an eternity, everything has happened within minutes, she noticed that the smoke still hadn't reached her by the gate.<p>

Side by side, they rushed away in complete silence.


	18. Chapter 18

**Hold me**

Through the darkness he heard her rapid breaths racing with his own.  
>They came to an end of a wild ride.<p>

Meeting the steady ground beneath, following her shape in the night, he reached out to help her dismount.  
>Catching breath, she pulled away and snapped:<p>

"Don't touch me!"

It pierced straight through the dark. Bewildered, rejected, he took a step back, panting and holding the harness angrily as she hurried past him. Exasperated, he threw the saddles down and led the animals to the water. He had never seen her like this, she was wild.

This was not the calm timid girl he knew. And much more of her was still hidden.  
>She had started a fire. <em>A fire, you little Amazon!<em>  
>Facing him with his past over and over again!<br>Seeing him ready to kill and now pushing him away!

It had to come to this... Ready for a storm of accusatory looks or harsh words, he couldn't stand the calm before it.

At once, it was almost too quiet. He rushed towards the house, turning a lamp on, only to find that she was not in there. _Where are you?! _The anger cooled down, replaced with a sudden angst that she might have run from him. He flew outside, his gaze piercing through the darkness.

There she was. Hidden in the soft shadows, the yellow-reddish light of the lamp barely reaching her.

Kneeling by the stream, restless hands splashing water onto her face, wet fingers running through the hair fallen loose. Letting the water drain down her neck, the collar of her white shirt soaked wet, leaving the fabric transparent in places.  
>It looked like she was trying to wash something away.<p>

Right there on that spot. The very place where they'd talked the night before they went separate ways, the same one where they had kissed last time, before she'd left.  
>Fled from him, more like it.<p>

Watching a while longer, he left her at peace, carrying some apples to the horses, that would have to do for tonight. They were calm, at least someone was. It would be nice to groom them, he thought, he hadn't done it since having left Caesar behind. That horse had sometimes been more reasonable than the staff, knowing who the real master of the house was, the one who had been coming at night. A completely different animal would have become of him when led out from the Opera into the streets of Paris and long paths of it's outskirts, more than five hundred kilograms of muscle as a loyal accomplice in Ghost's escapades. He hadn't been riding ever since then. Until tonight.

Diverting thoughts perhaps... but this way it was easier to leave her be.

Returning to the house, he left his boots by the doorway, finding that she is still outside.  
>Always by the water.<br>Almost wanting to shout it out, he barely suppressed the need to make her stop, presuming that maybe she feels as he had often had, each time he'd been brought to the ground and shown cruelty, it had been there, each time he'd been the monster, as well. _Your hands are clean, Isabelle!_

Noticing his presence, she stood up, saying nothing.

He came closer, washing his own hands and face - as if that could ever make them clean; then rising up to meet her gaze. It was the kind seen in people hurting beyond sense or meeting terror too great. That look of emptiness in one's eyes... No fear, no hatred, only clouded thoughts distanced from emotion, a stare that sees no further.

"Do you hate me now?" Straight into the matter he went. His dark side, tonight she saw it with her own eyes... No way back. No pretense. There was nothing to hide.

With a spark in her eyes, she finally looked back at him. "No."

Though honest, something about it made him feel like he hit an iceberg. The drops draining down her temples and cheeks, made it seem like there was some enormous lake of pain inside her, wanting to pour out. And he wished that the ban would break right then and there and, even if drowning him, set her free at last.

A bit closer, he found that it were not tears.  
>"I thought you were crying."<p>

The answer came right out, still a bit brusquely:  
>"I can't even <em>cry<em>, Erik!"

Feeling so cold within, like something inside was not functioning right, confused by that fact, she whispered mildly:  
>"Look... I can't even cry anymore..."<br>Standing there, trembling, she stared into her hands.

He was resolute, approaching carefully: "Can't you see that between you and me, I am the one who is truly damaged?"

Trying not to shatter, her trembling intensified as she looked into the distance. He knew nothing about this. He only tried to do what felt right. Something undetermined. But all he could do was to stand there. It seemed enough for her, she was the one to step towards him and without thinking leaned into the solid wall of a man, those long arms folding around her.

Safe and warm needn't be a place, she thought, it could be someone's arms... And it felt nice.

Closing her eyes, inhaling deeply, listening to the words coming from him, never mind the contrary meaning, she liked the very sound of his voice - something in it was so soothing.

"You started a fire."

She had no reasonable explanation.  
>"I just <em>had<em> to do it." She needed that place to be gone. If not that man, then let it be the place.

All that has happened that evening, seen now from a distance, made her shudder, she was afraid of the outcome. She outdared a predator. Would that mean that she is a prey from now on? It was not the way she wanted to live, having to look behind her back just to make sure that no one is there.  
>"He'll come after me!"<p>

He took her in. "I don't think so. Not soon, anyways. He can consider himself lucky if he'll see on that eye again."  
>As far as Erik was concerned, the lowlife could consider himself lucky to be alive.<p>

"Oh, God... What have I done?"  
>An act of violence, perhaps. And eye for... for eyes washed with tears, shut firmly, or lowered to the ground.<p>

She faltered, what was done couldn't be changed. Isabelle didn't want to go back. As if she could never go back to the life she was once supposed to live, and the moment she stepped on this path, the firm ground, something instinctive and wildish stirred within her.

"He deserved it. It is nothing compared to what I would..."

Not wanting to hear it, she interrupted: "Don't say that!"

"It's the truth. I'd kill him. You know it."

With her face pressed against his chest, her own voice was muffled and she had to be that much more clear. "No. Not again. Not for _me_. Promise!"  
>Why is it that she could accept him burdened with sin, and at the same time wouldn't want him to carry the weight of the one he was ready to take for her? Would that put her in debt, would she dare to cling so tight then? Would it matter?<p>

"Then what did you need me for?"

"I don't know. Just to _be_ there..." She looked into his eyes, to make sure, to make him realize. "Promise..."

"I thought that was the only way. What else you could want from me..."

"Hold me."

Just a while ago she has told him _not_ to touch her... He couldn't argue with either demand.

She held tight, calming down. They sat down in silence, shifted and found a place to rest on the bare stone. Letting the time run it's own course, never fully understanding how it could slow down so magically, she wanted to simply exist in those moments. Fairly long it seemed, the lamp in the window began to flicker and her tresses dried in the night breeze, right there under his hands.

She welcomed the slight pressure of his chin on her head. Does he notice such a spontaneous thing, she thought, when one is touched so rarely...  
>Isabelle had to admit that she liked it, thinking that this became her favorite place to be, both this place by the water and his arms.<p>

"Just hold me a little longer..." _I need you._ And yet, the words didn't come out.

With a voice toned down into a hoarse whisper, he spoke: "Don't you see that I am the one who is desperately clinging to your mere presence?"

It calmed him down incredibly,_ being close_ so comfortably, without the pressure. After having been on the edge of reason... this was calming.

She could not imagine allowing it to any other man. Leaning deeper into the warmth, she could feel the power of those forceful pounds within his chest, his own smell mixing with the smoke that has lingered on his shirt.  
>His mouth was so close when she looked up and her lips wanted to get closer. Why not? Something had happened between them before, culminating in a similar way. Always drawing them together, some force pulling her into his arms.<p>

Softly, slowly, she kissed him.

Never had she thought that it could come so easily, like it had been imprinted inside and now coming out to enhance what she'd experienced.  
>For the first time she was the one to initiate a kiss, opening up. She found him there, somewhere, surprised at first but letting her in, responding, drawing closer. The texture of a tongue feeling so coarse, moist and slick on her lips.<br>They broke apart for a moment and the warm wet feeling dissolved cooling down in the air, interrupted by rhythmical hot breaths, leaving the feeling of loneliness, wanting to break it.

Not sure what to think, he found that there was not much use of it either.  
>She was there, a woman, in his arms.<br>How many times had he wished? Wanted? Such a lonely lifetime of craving for someone, anyone willing to try and understand. When he'd tried to make it happen, it only resulted in despair. This was different.  
>Somehow, they've clung on together along the way.<p>

At first he just stared, confused, thinking maybe she would pull away. Then a sudden tide of longing dared him to have a taste again, feel her comply, kiss her deeply, aching, wanting.  
>A series of small innocent kisses breaking with those daring ones. His senses all aware, he could feel her scent, breathe it in, recognize it - the same fragrance he has recalled that last time, so youthful and feminine...<p>

Her skin so soft under his fingertips, and has anything ever felt as thin as this cotton shirt? How could that feel possibly pass unnoticed? Her pliant breasts pressed against his chest as he pulled her closer, perhaps too sudden and too tight, and a thought ran through his mind: the last time everything had stopped and she'd left.  
>Now, she stayed.<p>

Those hands running slowly over her body, it was nearly disheartening - she was not used to the way they touched - stirring deeply under the surface.  
>After the initial shock and maybe for a second or two almost petrified, she let him. This arms had hurt and killed, she knew, but that was not the reason to her moment of panic. It was the awareness that this were arms of a man of flesh and blood.<br>A man whose caresses were awaking so many things within her, things she never thought she'd feel.

More than in her body, it was in her spirit. So much time believing how she would stay cold, unfeeling forever, she'd never thought that someone could warm her heart up like that. Like a block of ice, slowly at first, unnoticeable till it's too late, and then ever more rapidly, exponentially, to the point where she could almost see it melt down in all that heat. _Look at me now. Is this what it feels like? That feeling they all worship and glorify?_

Slowly, the tingling in her belly intensified under those palms that moved up and down her flanks.  
>It wasn't telling her to run, well, at least not enough to stop him.<p>

Her arms came up over his broad shoulders, as far as they could reach comfortably, fingers on that spot between his shoulder blades and a bit higher, where she could feel his tense bent spine squirm just a little on her way to that stiff neck.

It was maddening, how he wanted to move up to her breast, cup it, feel it mold into his hand, to grab her hip, feel her up. Wanting badly, he didn't dare to. He'd only want more. Would it scare her away, would she flee again?

He tried to come to his senses, thinking that it can't be. How could this one possibly want him?  
>A broken man.<br>He gave her practically nothing, not even romantic words or promises. Like a reward for doing it the wrong way. And his lustful skin only burning for more, almost using her. Clearly aroused, he retreated, hesitantly standing up, it was for her sake. "Isabelle... This is..."_ ...more than I can stand!_

Facing him from this small distance, so close, she saw it in his eyes.  
><em>Desire.<em>  
>It sent shivers through her entire being. And yet, she couldn't stand the sudden emptiness. She wrapped her own arms but it was not even nearly close to that embrace.<p>

She wanted to feel him. She chose this.

Closing her eyes, she let it out. "Don't let go." _I need you to hold me._

"Do you know... Anything beyond this point... Makes me want things which I cannot inflict on you."

She knew what he meant. He _wanted her_ and it was terrifying to realize it.

At the same time, there was a strange thrill in the discovery that she caused that in him.  
><em>She<em> made him feel this... Things she never believed she'd want to cause in a man.

And she felt it too, that stir which kept her wanting more of his touch. In spite of the remnants. Now, she was a woman.  
>A woman who had broken a nice list of unwritten rules, norms inflicted on her by hypocritical society precisely because she was female.<p>

Maybe she could, maybe she should try and let it happen. Who in the world would know, other than him?  
>Many stories she had heard, all so different, but none was hers. Things she hadn't believed in, have come to exist. Among a million thoughts running through her head, one kept coming back:<br>"Don't let me go."

Trembling in anticipation of what is to happen, she gathered courage and reached up to his face, tracing his cheekbones, both the good and malformed one, thinking: "_This is Erik, no one else, just him"._

It was the final impact to his self-restraining, for his lips came down on hers with raw passion, devouring, making it obvious, a bit rude, both warning and claiming her. _Do you see now?!_

"Do you see where it leads?"

Timid, she nodded her head.

Those long fingers still entwined in her hair brushed against her nape and dug deeper between the roots, even more induced by her own little movements. His head came down to meet her eyes to eyes, and as she thought their foreheads were about to collide, she was drinking in the words that came out of him harshly:

"I don't want to hurt you... If you want to stop this, do it now..."

Did she want it to stop? Or had she, in some way, already complied to this when taking the risk and leaving with him? Wasn't it true that someone had given her a hint, a warning even, or perhaps an... idea?  
>She recalled that question: <em>«Could you stand that face hovering above you?»<br>_It had never been about his face, there was another part of him that was frightening to her.  
>Not even corporeal.<br>It was something on the inside that made men unforeseeable, the urges which boiled under the surface. This was something else, radically unlike it. She wanted to feel him - a man, to know that she can live at last, that she dares to be a woman.

"You shouldn't be here, not with a man like me." _A man, only that. And you crawled under my skin unawares!_

There was a movement of that lump, an apple in his throat, this time it seemed like he swallowed words she wasn't meant to hear.

"I want to be here. To feel." Such a simple confession she made, a tremendous change with it.

What a trigger for him! And she knew that she wouldn't try to stop him, not now. Not when it feels like this. Why would this be wrong?

She had learned something about wounds, the real ones of flesh and blood.  
>It cannot, it should not be closed if it is not clean and treated right. Even if it doesn't show on the surface, there is no proper healing inside, and sometimes the wound needs to be reopened and cut into the healthy tissue. And it hurts, but only so it may heal right. Her instinct was telling her that maybe it was the same with the wounds on one's spirit, hers being in an aching need to finally close.<p>

Admiring the smooth warm skin, his face buried into her neck, he thought how no artist could ever perfect it with brush and paint, no sculptor could ever evoke the warmth of it and capture it so alive... No work of art could ever compare, nothing but a feminine touch itself could bring him ease or depict the closeness he had been yearning for. _So alive..._

His lips came close to that spot where some while ago her hands have cleansed with fierce splashes. At first she froze, it took a while. Just when he thought that he should retreat, she leaned closer - almost daring herself.

Hearing her gasp as his mouth moved over her neck was more arousing than he had ever imagined.

Could that little giveaway possibly mean «Yes», for once in his life? A response to that immense ache, even if just once?  
>His hand found a way up her waist, running, oscillating, and at last daring to fondle the hill of her breast, feel it beneath his palm so soft and enthralling, wanting to tear the fabric and feel the real skin as he heard a sigh.<p>

It sent a bolt right into her core. No matter how many times she touched her own bosom before, she'd never thought it could have this effect. Shy at first, gradually she found his boldness shamefully thrilling. In an acute need for more air, she inhaled deeply and her chest widened, breast shaping and filling his hand.

Leaning in, his touch glided up and down her back and encouraged her to respond. She could feel the layers of skin, blood and muscle coming to life all over his shoulders, throughout his chest, sending the heat to the surface.

He was so much larger than her - the idea came to her when trying to reach his face, and as he came down to meet hers, she pictured his spine forming one big question mark. _An enigma_.  
>She smiled faintly at the comparison. Drawing fingers through his hair and over the furrowed scalp, thinking whether he would believe her if she told him how she finds him handsome, that a blight of skin means so little, but the responsiveness so much.<br>She remained silent, choosing to show it, to feel his face against her own instead. This time, she was the one who made him heave, reminding him of the disfigurement which marked him as an outcast, and tended to it with mildness he'd never received.

He would have never asked that of a woman.

He had probably never been touched as much in his life.

It seemed wrong, that urge to take her, to claim her, to... He cursed himself as he thought of the expression: _ravish_.  
>With the remaining pieces of sanity, it was crucial to know that she wants this, any other way would make him as low as any other bestial lecher.<p>

There was no other way for her, knowing that she can't keep running forever. How could she stop him if she couldn't even stop herself?_ Just hold me like you did before, don't let go..._

Not knowing how to say it, he swallowed hard, ready to burst.  
>Words failed.<br>A look of longing escaped him towards the little house. Her eyes followed. For a moment she was looking down, and the following one at the strong hand caressing her right before it offered itself to her. Words couldn't have said it as clear and honest.

_Oh, God. _Taking it, she decided to take a chance, at least once. At least so she could tell herself someday that she gave a try, fighting fire with fire.

Clutching together, they walked side by side following that stone path and without even looking she felt the cracks and spaces between the stones. The need to skip them was shoved into deepest background.  
>Suddenly, at the door she stopped. There was a dusty pair of boots right by the door frame and, blushing, she noticed how his feet were bare all this time. Such a silly detail, how unexpectedly open of him, a man so strangely closed to the outside world.<p>

"Give me just a moment..." Oh, she knew buying time wouldn't help much. Another hour, a year, another ten, never? No. She simply needed a moment to stand at the threshold and try to clear her mind. Outside, in the darkness, there was nothing except for more denial and hiding.  
>Inside, in a weak light of a dying lamp, there was a man. There, a candle. Less light, more comfort to both.<br>Standing there alone, feeling the skin of her neck - right where his mouth have been - under her own fingertips, gathering courage, she pulled herself out of her riding boots, equally exposed like him.

Stepping inside, she sensed the calming scent of apples which formed a line on the edge of a plain cupboard and on the window panel, occasionally interrupted with a pear or some other detail which she failed to notice.  
>The taste of those wild ones was always distinct, with a hint of unusual. Mad man, how did he know? Her thoughts went back to an evening when she unintentionally put them into that sketch, the reminder of a dream. A forefeeling perhaps, or just a game of coincidence? <em>This is insanity...<em>

Holding a little ceramic mug, the remnants of that sweet wine from the first time they were here, stirred her memory. If they could have some now, it would probably spark her bravery. The thought only crossed her mind, knowing that she would not want it, really.  
>The water in the mug shook along with her movements as she took a sip. He saw it.<p>

"You are scared." If only she knew how nervous he was just as well behind the illusion - and such a weak one, of self-confidence.

"I am frightened." She bared herself with an honest confession, there was no use in hiding the obvious.

"It doesn't have to happen. Don't let it happen for a wrong reason." He would respect her wish. For her. Because it was her. Because he was a man, and the Ghost who had been taking without reservation must now remain a shadow.

_When, if not this night? What if I never feel like this again, what if I never find the courage? Whom with, if not with you?  
><em>She guided his hand to her heart. "Here I know that it is not wrong. Show me that it can be different..."

It was the one chance in his life, a gift from Fate to the man so unworthy. A chance to live a life worth living, if only for a night. But this was more than he'd dare to take, more than he knew how to keep.

A small room seemed to close itself around them, locking away from the outside world. Rules ceased to exist and they both knew how this night was beyond healthy reason and sane judgement. Were it any other way, neither would dare.

Trembling, she felt his hands were slightly shaking too, silently asking permission for every touch, every kiss, every button of her blouse, one by one turning open, revealing more of sensuous skin. She wouldn't stop him. Those hands touching her, his hands, so sensual.

_Sinfully sensual. _

The heaviness in her belly moved lower giving her a sense that she is doing something forbidden, even shameful.  
>Yet, she had to admit that it was purely enticing. Something that a good girl should not do, not ever this way.<br>It felt wrong because it felt good, just like those times when she had discovered such feel within her own body.

Leading her to the simple place where he used to sleep alone, embarrassed, he had nothing to offer but a few covers, the only bedding to bid all the comfort on that solid wooden floor which lay beneath.  
>Down on a knee, he kissed her hand in a chivalrous manner, though they both knew well that what he wanted to do couldn't count even nearly as such. He had no sane idea.<p>

A real woman - so unreal.

Up and down the curves of her hips, he was undressing her, his eyes pleading for approval, pulling her trousers slowly to the ground, letting the awkwardly tucked short shift fall loose. Offering his hand to bring her down to him, he let her accommodate.

She could not remember the last time when she felt so nude. Still covered with her undergarments, yet somehow more naked than ever before. His wondering eyes all over her.

When she finally placed a hand on him through the cut of his shirt, insecurely as if she were the one who didn't know how to touch, that disheveled thing began to annoy him and it had to come off. Reminding himself how he must not rush, kissing - almost asking, what do we do now - only so could he bridle the haste and restrain himself.  
>She seemed so shy, and was not the only one feeling that way.<br>Life has written signs on his skin. He had never allowed anyone read them.

Desire too long deprived - now coming to surface, showing in flesh and growing harder, he had to hold back. He could hurt her. He knew that much. Aching, wanton, he hadn't been so intent and nervous in a long time.  
>This was not the time to be weak under the weight of an urge.<p>

Laying down together, the skin of his torso pressed against hers through the thin fabric of her shift.  
>His touch explored the curves of her figure, pulling the shoulder strap ever lower as his hand ventured below and found her breast without any barriers. Her skin cowered, real and alive, the beating of her lively heart fastened under the lips which burned all the more.<p>

_This is his skin, on mine.  
><em>She took her time, learning the way of his arms and shoulders, daring no further than those tense muscles along his spine, wondering if it's anything like the things she's feeling.  
>Skin of another being, so fascinating...<p>

In the midst of it, she was pulled back into reality as he went down her waist and to her hips, untying the lace of her undergarments. It had to come to that at some point, but until the given moment she had no idea what it would be like. As if anything could have prepared her for this. Bare and timid, only a thin material to conceal her, all her senses, all her instincts went wild. _Oh, Heavens... This is really going to happen...  
><em>

His fingers crept higher between her thighs and touched her.

The way she jerked abrupt, uptight, shocked him too and he nearly pulled back, unsure, inexperient.  
>He remained there unmoving instead.<p>

For a moment he hesitated, thinking that he doesn't know how, not really.  
>No matter how many times had he caught lovers in the dark corners, no matter how much theory he'd encountered, it could never replace experience, and the disastrous past could only be shunned away in pretense as if it never had happened.<p>

He wished to have had led a very different life, seeking knowledge about touch by touch itself.

He lingered waiting for some sign, until he felt her release some of the tension. _  
><em>

It was simply too much for her - a strike of sensation out of nowhere, dire and pleasant and uncomfortable. Intense.  
>She could not control it. Not the touch, nor the man.<br>Getting used to it evenly, she allowed, letting him above as he won her over in another kiss - so innocently seductive.

As her lips relaxed with it, her body followed.  
>A wellspring slightly rising wet within her, slowly responding to him.<p>

How strange it felt, to let him between her thighs, to open up to a man.  
>A moment of panic she couldn't escape, locked beneath him.<p>

Once his hips pushed between her thighs there was no retreat, there was no way to bring them back together for they could only press against him.  
>She felt powerless. Trapped with his arms all around, his elbows on both of her sides, she felt the need to stop and shove him off, torn apart.<p>

His name escaped her lips, reminding her that it's only him, verifying almost without a sound. Almost.  
>Focusing on her eyes, his own didn't give away the thoughts behind.<br>So there was some power after all, in his name, in her voice, in their weakness...  
>Yet she saw the ardour within him and knew that she would not deny him now.<br>As long as it's him... She'd not only take it, she'd want it. And so she gave way.

Flared up, he couldn't stand it any longer, burning for a woman, aching to let his manhood - never firmer evidence of his lust - free from the confines.  
>All he wanted to feel was her. All he wished to know was that he was wanted.<p>

Not ready to look, she closed her eyes. _Let it be different... Please... Let it be different..._

Waiting. Feeling. Calm. Warmth. A hand gliding up her leg.

A hot mouth coming back to her own.

A body pressing hard against hers.

A man taking her slowly.

Little by little at first, trying to feel every bit, then unhinged by instinct - thrusting in completely. _Oh, dear, the heat!_

She winced at his surge. It hurt her. Her body resisted for a while, with sense and memory of it's own.

It was not like that time when she had fought so hard against it, seeking escape. Now, she was seeking the way back into reality.

The way he stopped moving within her, observing her with a deep stare, as if waiting for something...  
>Could he gaze into her eyes and see what was there? That there is something inside her, leading a battle, but not against him.<p>

This time there was something rather painful deep inside, and she has been ready to take it. But slowly, colliding with the unknown. His weight was holding her down, his motion a bit rough, but felt strangely good now.

The path where he passed remained stirred, it wavered through, inside out, from the core to the skin, dwelling in her mind, rising in her chest... Desire to be his, to give what he is craving for, even if in body.  
>If anything, she'd want him to know that though it was not in her power, really...<br>She'd love to be able to welcome him as one would welcome a body of a lover.

Within her, he brought some strange kind of pleasure.  
>Could he tell what it is like for her? She kept her eyes on him as if it became a need, wanting to look, to see, to know that he is there, with her, that it is <em>him<em>, no one else.

Trusting him, her own body seemed to have betrayed her, working along, submitting to his passion. Such a terrifying thing it seemed - to surrender. Never having believed before that she might find joy in it.  
>Those few times - discovering the secrets of her own body - were never this intense. Something hadn't been there. And now it seemed that she had been dreaming about him touching her like that - like a man would touch a woman.<p>

His worn out pants brushing against her bare legs, her flimsy shift pressed underneath him, as if suddenly there was not enough bare skin on skin, how maddening!  
>A seam was torn somewhere, a ripping sound, as his hand reached further under her shift, grazing for more skin.<p>

In all the short lived earthly power he tried, hardly standing through the first onrush of excitement, himself so weak under such a rousing stimulus - body to body...  
>Moving within her in some instinctive rhythm, he listened to the quiet sounds of her breath deepening along with his own.<br>All he knew then was an incredible thrill. Pacing slowly, then a little harder and more confident...  
>Trying to read the way her body answered to his, trying hard to ignore the wild urges, he was fighting the inevitable. The urge to spill his corporeal being over her, his lust into her, was too strong to stand.<br>It didn't last. It couldn't possibly.

There was a sound escaping her throat and it undid him.

In that moment it seemed like he has finally reached somewhere inside her.  
>Not just in body... Within <em>her<em>.

For a short while, they were truly joined together.

Unable to hold back, out of control, he felt a hand coming up his side, over his neck, close to his face... It all came right back at him, both times that he was caught unready.  
>The arm sneaking to reveal his true face.<br>The hand to _unmask_ him.

Before he even knew it, he was holding her hand down to the floor.

It startled her, the sudden moment when she lost the track of him, right before his tension reached the highest point, like a deep dark shadow inside him.  
>All she could really do was stay still, what a change in him - not as much in carnal sense - it was something far deeper than she imagined and she couldn't do a thing, waiting for him. As long as it's him. It had to be him. <em>Come back to me, Erik... <em>

Recognizing her only in a flicker of sanity returning as he heard her voice utter his name, his shaking hand moved up to hers, fingers intertwining. He groaned while twitching hard in ecstasy, falling down weak, captured between currents of delight and the confusing reality.  
>It was the one hand that treated him with tenderness. And the eyes behind the lids shut firmly were those eyes that seemed to be able to look inside his soul.<p>

Resting just for a while, he didn't move, taking a deep breath, then another one... just one more... and finally shifted to the steady ground beneath, letting her accommodate.  
>The hand that had been holding her own down for those few confusing and reckless seconds, came pleading for a response, gliding up and down her forearm lightly.<p>

Calming after the storm, pleasure melting with pain, pride colliding with shame. The weight and strength of a man now gone, as if something else was now there. She curled up, pulling the shift down her hips, for a moment feeling lost and lonely in the disconcert.

Yet, he wouldn't let go, turning to her. "Isabelle... What have I done?"

She felt that long arm folding around her, pulling her closer, almost claiming her, as if unable to let her go now that he's had her. And even if he'd let go, she couldn't escape from having been his.

All that could comfort her was to settle there, clasped to his chest, under his chin, that place where she wanted to hide. From the world, from herself, and perhaps even from him.  
>"Shhhh... Hold me..."<p>

Wordlessly, they lay together, holding closely, basking in the warmth of another being, only a cadence of their breathing stirred the air.

Too much has remained unspoken.  
>Tranquility felt good.<br>Silence suited them most.

* * *

><p>Waking from a light sleep, a little confused, half-naked, the body sensed a change. That tense load of suppressed energy seemed lighter, let out and now - renewed. An unnamed weight somewhere deep in the chest. The mind went blank in realization that she is not near him.<br>_Why? _She was not there. A dozen of possible scenarios went through his head, the one that she's realized the mistake and left, scared him the most.  
><em>Have I gone too far? <em>He would do anything for her at that moment, if only that could undo the irreparable and make it right.

Bewildered, his eyes glowered all around.

Her clothes still on the floor, the boots by the door frame.

And then the point of perceivement came.  
>If he knew her even a little as he believed it, there was one place where she could be. That spot was hers. From the very first time it had been so. Outside by the stream - the one place where she was returning to.<p>

Suddenly, he felt like he had no right to disturb her peace out there and so he observed from the distance. The sight of her was something unforgettable. Nude, her bare legs on the cold stone, that thin fabric falling down above her knees. Free. Serene. Her hair stirred by the mild night air, back upright and the thin waistline reminding him of his violin. He could die calmly right now.

She noticed his presence. Silent. The palm of her hand opened out just a little, inviting him discreetly.

"I thought you wanted to be alone."_ Away from me. _

No answer came.

He took her hand between his own, grazing it with lips lightly. _How many times have I come after you like this, finding you here?_

A melancholic smile showed on her lips.  
>If there was some point between women and men, a line that separates or determines the ones that dare to touch freely, it must have gone by unnoticed. So she touched his face, taking the good with the bad, thinking who could have done this to him, damage him to the point where he didn't let her touch it at that moment of frailty, stopping her almost roughly.<br>His brow frowned, more like in some inner pain than somber. _Both of us are damaged._

"For a such a long time it seemed like I couldn't feel anything at all."  
>How absurd it seemed, to whisper although they were alone out there, but it felt only right. She has never dared to determine the feelings he caused in her.<br>Such emotion once seemingly unreachable. Sometimes even unbearable.  
>Sexuality alone had been frightening to her. Against everything she had been taught to be right.<p>

And now she had a lover. Without remorse.

_A lover._

"What do you feel?" He wanted to hear it, not guess.

"Like laughing and crying at the same time..."  
>After having done both of it out there in the silence, she was relieved. Relieved for being able to let it out at last. For no further questions as well. She was wrong when having thought for a brief while that he could erase what had been done to her. He could not, no man ever could. But it could fade.<p>

To laugh through the tears of despair, he knew it damn well. When he had both rejoiced and writhed in agony, over a fatal kiss. Tonight he committed the final betrayal of that memory. He simply had to move on.  
>This was not the same, far from being the same, but to lose again would destroy him and if only... <em>If only I could keep you by my side.<em>

She could sense that he was wondering.

"It seems I always end up searching for you." He sought, only to find that she's somewhere close.

Her eyes were wet, such a contrast to the smile she gave him. "You always find me."

"You keep running."

"Not tonight." And she couldn't hold it back any longer: "What have we done...?"

His gaze dropped to the ground, guilty. "This is not in my nature... When I cling on, I don't know how to let go." _What am I to do with you? _It would be unfair to entangle her into his web.  
>Suddenly, he thought that maybe <em>all<em> she really wanted was all she has asked of him, to hold her. And what has he done to her? "Do you regret it now?"

"I don't know where it leads. I don't regret it. You make me feel." Somehow, in spite of everything, it seemed easier to let it happen than to talk about it. "I wish we could let the world wait until tomorrow..."

"Will you still be here?"

"Yes."

"You have to be sure. There are so many things you don't know."

"I remember all you have told me. I believe you."

"There is more. I had tried to keep someone with all my power. I never learned how to let go. I don't want to chain you, Isabelle."

She felt his heartbeat under her palm. "I know it's broken... People make choices, Erik. I am still here."

"What had brought you to me?" He muffled it against the top of her head and felt the onrush of blood into every cell in his body. That restored vigor... made him want more when she moved away - to kiss him, just a small innocent kiss filled with devotion. The ember inside him threatened to flare up again. Unable to resist, he tasted her.

She gave tenderness in return. It felt good to feel, to let him fondle her, her senses found how there was still much passion left in this man.  
>Passion was amazing. And terrifying.<br>Seeing what it had done to him, bringing out that shadow within him, it could rob one of reason. And what about her own? She felt it as well, having to remind herself that it was him... But it was different now, she wasn't afraid of it.

If something fearful comes out, it will dissolve. For fear is just a feeling.  
>Almost a catharsis, in some strange way.<br>She was made stronger through her weakness. She'd take the challenge.

Her mind followed her body, closer to him, as he led her back inside.

Standing behind her back, he noticed how the hem of her shift was wet. And he cursed himself while thinking that perhaps she has been trying to wash his traces off.  
>That by the stain of his lust she might have perceived him as someone who has defiled her once more.<p>

Yet, she responded, turning to him. Why would she allow it again? He might burn in Hell for this but he wanted her again. Feminine skin so inviting, he wanted to see more, all of her.

Surrounded, she let him pull her into that fire, even when it has scorched her. But she liked this heat. She chose this one. And so she'd let him.

He was more sure now, dominant, determined, and still in a careful way. Not the man who would simply come to claim her as he pleased, now that he's had her once.  
>It would take a lot to learn how to let go. Yet, all she really wished for was to be just the two of them.<br>To be _free_.

For all she cared tonight, it was her choice.

His hands were removing the only thing that kept her concealed.  
>How brazen of him in a way, running free along her naked body.<p>

She was stripped.  
>Both of them were. All of their skin, nothing to hide. He wouldn't rush, taking her in with a long gaze.<p>

She took a shy look in return, his skin seemed tanned and she thought that it must be from the time he had spent working out here alone, returning to wilderness, mad man, the hair on his chest growing rare and lighter towards the navel, the movement of his stomach as he breathed heavily.

The instinct was whispering to cover the nudity.

So they covered - leaning into each other - skin to skin, what better place to hide from such a view?  
>They still <em>felt<em>, all the more. How tricky the nature!

Each touch less innocent and more avid. Each one leading closer. How feverish she felt under hot kisses!

Until he came to her breast and her heart sank as his finger grazed a mark. He stopped for a moment, wondering about a thin line, a droplet, stretching to the outer side of her breast, tiny, barely noticeable. Intriguing. Her quivering breath told him more than words could. Impassioned, he kissed it.

Skin, so welcoming, breasts secretly inviting him to put a hand on, hips, so womanly...  
>How he wanted to touch, learning the way - a touch which calmed her, and one that would make her seem a bit distant, a kiss to draw closer... How he came to take her, his flesh seeking a permission, her own letting him enter.<br>Carefully at first, then plunging deeply and inexperienced, having to remind himself, withdrawing slowly... Seeking the right way to take a woman.  
>Once he'd discover it, he learned for good. To let her undisclosed response slow him, spur him, let him deeper...<br>So calm she seemed underneath him, as if too shy to let it be known that she feels him deeply and strongly.  
>Flesh to flesh, all hot and teasing, wet, hungry, in need, seeking for more. He grew daring, firmer, lasting longer.<br>Moving with feel...  
>How arousing to have a body clasped so closely to one's own!<p>

Female body, in it's nature, was something exquisite. She_, _whole of her_,_ was a hidden treasure.

How magnificent to find another being welcoming him! Once in an embrace, their bodies were no longer strangers.

Lost in the rhythm, in the waves of motion - his now becoming theirs, as if she found a massive door meant to be open but it was simply too hard without the power nor the knowledge. With his hard strength coming within her restlessly, repeatedly, a ray peered through the heavy wings and she wanted more, opening in a smooth rashly movement, she sensed something wonderful behind, just one astonished glimpse before it's gone. She was not sorry.  
>There was so much more, now she understood, content.<p>

With a man within her, draped over her all powerful and restless, herself never more exposed, never as open to the risk of getting hurt, nor the chance of tasting pleasure. She had never felt more feminine than when admired by him.

Only the two of them, skintight.

There was a key in learning that she can feel, that she dares to hope. To admit how she yearns for something unknown. It had not been easy.  
>There was another side of this night, unexpected, an escape. There was a man, strong and captivating, himself almost unaware, leading her through an obscure labyrinth. And she wanted to find him at the end. If only he'd let her...<p>

Desire was a powerful force but there was something else, something deeper, much more beautiful and she wanted to discover it. Another thing that couldn't be controlled. Something she couldn't deny any longer.

She was in love.

As if they needed one another before they've even learned the comfort of each other's embrace.  
>They held together through the night, not wanting to fall asleep, unable to fight it.<p>

Resting upon his chest, his fingers in her hair, this time she let it out:

"I need you."


	19. Chapter 19

**Forbidden fruit**

Thrusting deeper, gently, he drew his fingers into the silk he was resting by.  
>Unable to comprehend what exactly has been going through his head a while ago, he buried his face into the softness. It was not a simple linen that he was used to.<p>

It was someone.

His eyes flew open at the sudden realization that he was not alone.

Not a single move, his instinct ruled.  
>Throughout the era of a ghost, he had learned to rest all but buried alive, safe deep underground. Prior to that, he had developed the instinct to react <em>impromptu - <em>always vigilant - to anything out of the ordinary. Wilderness had solved the issue this way, with each creature meant to find whether it's to fight or run, so why wouldn't he?

The eyes saw, the skin felt, all the senses evenly recognized.

Her.

Then the mind realized. The sudden awareness of her sleeping presence calmed him down.

The warmth. The softness. Skin. Hair.

He mused, half-awake.

As a boy, he had always been longing for the simplest affections like a privilege to wrap his mother's locks around his pleading finger, just once while falling asleep, like any other child. Always denied. Until he had given up on even trying. Then everything changed and for years he just sought out for somebody else to comfort him.

The need to dig his fingers into a storming ocean of Christine's rich curls which had slowly been growing wilder and gradually ceased to contain their childish innocence, was simultaneously driving him insane.

There was more, always more. Madame's cheeky habit of swooning her long braid in that bossy way had always made his lips twist into a grin destined to melt into a smile once he'd retrieve deeper into the shadows, always with a strange distanced adoration. And when she'd pin it up, sometimes he would have felt the wish to steal Giry's hairpin and let that braid fling.

Looking at it now, it seemed almost like a persistent perverted desire to let women's hair fall free.

Under the first rays of the rising sun beaming through the shutters slightly ajar, the long red silk was daringly challenging him to dive deeper into that softness.

_Isabelle..._

Just a little longer...

His sleep has been light for most of the night, almost expecting to find himself alone once more. Unused to having someone sleep by his side, he rather paid attention to her presence, careful not to make a wrong move. Until he wasn't able to fight it anymore.

His heavy lids opened and closed again, before he finally decided that it is time to face a new day.

The ribbed pattern of shadows pasted on the opposite wall has only started to discern more clearly and fall downwards to the floor where they lay. It was still fair early and the cool freshness in the air made it all the more desirable to nestle against her warm body.

This precious image carved deep into his mind. He almost wished to capture her frozen in that moment for the rest of time, asleep, unaware, serene...

By her side a creature of darkness exposed, resting, basking in warmth and light. Living. _I could live like this..._

Her head leaned on her own arm rather than directly onto the bedding.  
>A barely visible flutter of her eyes appeared and then ceased almost at the same instant and he found that her dark brown lashes were of the same shade as that tiny dot of a birthmark on her earlobe and the one on her shoulder as well.<br>With his fingertip he ran down her temple, removing the tress fallen astray, then down her cheek, along a lovely neck to the hill of her breast.

Carefully, not wanting to wake her up, nor to be caught in this stolen moment of liberty.

Drawing a circle around her nipple, he watched the rising changes he was causing on it. Following that tiny line, he couldn't help but think it was one of the things which made her who she is.  
>Observing it closely now, he could ideate another origin of it, instead of her hurt. It looked as if some strange higher force had tried to give her a final touch, painting the areola in a rosy hue and, enchanted by it, missed a delicate drop draining aside and forming one single tear-shaped mark that made her unique.<br>Under that hill, there was a heart beating peacefully, inviting him to fall back into a slumber.

_Enchantress..._

Strong and daring enough, she had another side too, he thought. Last night he saw her ready to face her nightmare. It mattered, because if she really wanted him, she would need that other other side. When everyone else ran away, this one was running straight to him. Sometimes straight through the fire is the only way out.  
><em>Was it safety you were seeking? I could provide that for you, even if I lose my own head. Was it the need for comfort? What has brought you to me?<br>_Her whispers echoed in his mind: _"Don't let go, hold me... You make me feel... I need you..."_  
>Never before have those words been meant for him. He wanted her and it was terrifying because it was all an unknown territory to him. So kind and innocent she seemed, he couldn't fathom how she could ever think of herself as damaged goods.<br>Had there been _no_ emotion within him, perhaps it would have been easier to keep her. _"I need you."_

* * *

><p>Isabelle stirred at the absence of warmth which kept her comfortable. Suddenly missing it, she turned over and found herself all alone in the room. After years of waking alone it was confusing to find it so odd in that moment, still caught between a dream and reality.<br>_Such a strange feeling..._

As her eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she recognized the little house around her.  
>Sitting up, her hair brushed against the bare skin of her back and stirred her senses.<br>Dazed, realizing she was nude, the fog of confusion began dissolving as the remnants of last night rushed back to her, inevitably bringing the heat and color to her cheeks. There was a light cover partially concealing her, but not nearly enough at the moment. As it slipped down, she pulled it up to her chest.

The daylight seemed to drag the pressure, throwing it straight down on her. There was a feeling of sadness she couldn't explain to herself.  
>Reality hit hard.<em> What have I done? <em>It seemed like she has been possessed last night and only now coming back to her senses.

_I have thrown myself into his arms..._

His steps could be heard from outside and all she thought was how to look into his eyes now, after everything. The need to put something on overcame her and grabbing the shift, she pulled it over, hoping that he won't come in just a little longer. Her clothes were neatly placed over the closest chair and she realized it was his doing. How considerate of him, she thought. It would be awkward to be caught disrobed in front of him in the broad daylight.

Listening to the sounds of moving away, she peeked out through the window and found that he went over to the horses. That deep voice, still a little hoarse in the morning, could be heard from the distance. How unusual it seemed, the one who kept people at distance came to befriend this animals as though he had equal or perhaps even more respect towards them than humankind. Talking calmly, he was leading them a little further to find some place suitable for pasture. It should give her enough time.

As soundless as she could manage, she went out to the water to wash up. A numb aching sensation in her thighs followed her steps and she wondered whether it was from running or straddling the horse or... _Oh, my..._

Embarrassed, she thought of the things she let him do. The morality of it may be questionable but she simply hasn't cared about that last night. Their bodies becoming one, lips wanting to drink each other in, hidden desires colliding... Terrifying and yet, in so many ways, wonderful. _I can still feel you...  
><em>In the middle of her burning shame she couldn't help but recall that sensation, so close and yet so distant...

There still was no sane reason to do what she did, even if she was enamoured.  
>She took the reins of life, as Erik has told her to do once before. At the same time she could not deny that she was sneering into the face of a man who had raped her. She had done it for herself too and somehow all of that led her here. To him.<p>

Josephine was to thank for a big part of this, she had done her share in those preceding months, planting the seed of realization that people pretend to live by rules of proper behaviour and then they step on every aspect of them. _What would you say now?_

Stirring the surface, she observed the wavy reflection of her appearance in the water, a strange lady looking back at her.  
><em>There was nothing ladylike in what you've done last night... And you're not even sorry. <em>She was terrified that she'll never be the same, and even though not wanting to be the same, this new woman was a mystery to her. A fallen woman perhaps, but somehow free.

* * *

><p>A blazing pair of eyes watched her from behind the woods, fascinated, thinking how masters of art would surely fight over such a scene, if only they had the privilege to encounter such a motif. When has his world turned so impressionable? All those other senses which had been complying to the audial for years, have turned so vivid along the way. The contrast between her hair and the greenery in the background, the simple pureness of the white fabric reflecting in the fresh water, the sun bathing her with golden rays, the tranquility...<p>

Watching her, he kept in the shadows, not wanting to disturb the scene. Yet, neither did he want to miss this sight. An old habit of lurking came out only for that reason, knowing that he needn't hide from her, that he could easily step into the light.  
>Smiling to himself with manly pride, he found that he has a damn good reason to smile.<p>

* * *

><p>Retreating to the house, she was taking in the simple interior. All the details she has missed the day before when she first came to him, and certainly did not care once they have returned here late in the evening. There have been changes since the last time she'd been here and found him somber and covered in the wooden dust. He has been cleaning the place, taking out all of the unnecessary, repairing the broken...<br>It left an impression as if it were a view into his inner side.  
>This house was him, maybe a state of mind, she thought, maybe something emotional. Whatever it was, he has been cleaning a lot of it out.<p>

Two wooden spoons on the cupboard caught her attention, fitting into each other perfectly. She remembered her own words. _"Not a single spoon in the house... Typical man..."_

After lingering outside for a while, not knowing what to say or do, he went inside too. Silent. Simply looking at her, without a word.

It would have been easier had they simply stayed awake, she thought, there would be no _before _or _after_, just a continuate situation. She had no idea what to do now. As she heard him enter, her pulse quickened. _What is he thinking? What happens now?_

In a long unbreaking contact, their eyes met.

_"Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked."_  
>Perhaps the Genesis had meant it this way, a nice little metaphor, not the reason for humanity to hide in shame before themselves for thousands of years.<p>

How ironic to think of that now, she thought. No matter how much clothing they had on, it had nothing to do with this. They have been stripped, not only in bodies. It was the man who revealed her, whom she let close to the most vulnerable parts of her being, to her heart. The moment of embarrassment oscillated in between and she was the one to look away first.

His imagination played games, trying to convince him that every time they get closer, the greater the distance becomes when they part. There seemed to be a gap and he wanted to cross it, otherwise he would stay on the other side all alone.

When it came to this, he felt clueless and powerless, even if some knowledge of relationships between men and women could be learned from books or observing others, there was no written rule of what was to be done _now_. He who had spent a great part of his lifetime in silence, suddenly couldn't bear it any longer and he wished her a good morning before he even knew what he's doing.  
>When she responded shyly, there was a slight giveaway of a hidden smile on her face, a light in her eyes when she looked at him, and suddenly he found that he can breathe after all.<p>

* * *

><p>It was strange at first. He started a fire, she made tea, they nearly brushed against each other unintentionally and it felt like electricity, they sat by the table, more like breaking the awkward silence than talking, circling around the little things instead of what's been on both of their minds.<p>

Turning it round and round, she studied the repeating pattern on the little mug. His was similar, though not identical. A cracked bowl on the table was ornamented just as well.

"Only now do I notice the difference."

By his puzzled look it seemed like he didn't understand. She went on: "It is in the details. The basic design is the same, it seems plain on the first sight, broken in places, it is not even symmetric, but the details... They are beautiful."

"You should see what remained hidden."

This time she was the one unsure of what they are talking about.

He started talking and she was thankful that he did so, it seemed that things were starting to settle back into their place.  
>She had noticed it before, Erik was a silent man in general, not wasting words in vain, and once he'd open up or get carried away, he could compensate for all those quiet periods, simply talking about something with unique observation which she liked about him. There was a story about the house, it belonged to an old couple, the man was a potter, and then she realized it was right in front of her nose. The mugs and dishes, a broken vase, those ornamented plates... Everything.<p>

Feeling naive, she confessed: "I thought it was a water mill..."

"Those are larger. The wheel was a part of a mechanism that he wanted to adjust for spinning the clay, he had been working on it before his wife died. Without a companion, he said that he had become lost and so had this place."

Her attention went to his long fingers that wiped a pear he took from the bowl. It was the only one in there, the rest was apples and she found it amusing how he took the only thing that stood out of the order. The symbolical meaning of both made her blood rush a little faster and his deep voice woke her from her thoughts.

"Would you like some?" The knife in his hand was ready to dive through the inviting yellow surface when it was suddenly stopped by her voice.

"Don't cut it!" Before she could weight the reasonable part of this, it just escaped her. "I mean..."

"What is it?"

"Nothing... It's silly..." There was no way out of this, his questioning eyes still awaited. "It's just something I've read a long time ago..." She paused to find the right words. "That a pear is not supposed to be cut in halves and divided between..." _Don't you know? _If only he would turn his gaze to somewhere else, she thought in the heat of embarrassment.  
>"...Lovers."<p>

Speechless, his mute lips repeated the word to himself. Lovers._ Is that what we are? Could you be my lover? _Watching her cheeks tinge in the loveliest shade of red, he cut the moment of tension. "I think I've heard something alike, the belief comes from Far East, I think."_ What do we do now? _Then he offered the pear to her.

She hesitated, looking at it, perhaps she would be able to count all the tiny brown spots scattered over that peel before she could find some sense in this.  
><em>Dare I? "<em>Haven't I fallen already?"  
>Her hand reached out, not taking it but rather enveloping his hand as he held the fruit.<br>It was the first time they touched this morning.  
>Closing her eyes as she came near, feeling the smooth waxen surface under her lips, she took a bite, soft and sweet and sinful.<p>

"The greatest stories are about the fallen ones..." He mused as he watched the scene, unmoving, waiting for her to finish. She only took a bite as though all she wanted was to taste it, and when she moved away he took one too, feeling her glance pass his lips.  
>Such a full aroma, like it has been picked just when it reached the perfect maturity, not a day too soon nor too late.<br>The wish suddenly prevailed and his mind perceived nothing else, leaning over closer to her, with one hand holding the fruit and the other one wondering behind her ear and to the nape of her neck.

He kissed her, finding the traces of that rich taste still lingering all over her lips.

Wistful, she didn't see it coming at first but when his mouth grazed over hers, she let him pull her into the kiss, and then another one, more fervent, exactly the way it went last night, and now she thought that she will never be free of those memories and sensations that followed. Hearing his husky voice, she opened her eyes.

"See... I don't know how to let go..."

The hunger arose and he wasn't sure of the nature of it. Perhaps it was both aspects of hunger that opened up within him. A moment of silence hanging in between seemed to have no ending. Knowing that he can't chain her, he had to give her a choice.

"Isabelle, I am not a man who keeps a mistress. It wouldn't be fair to you." It divided him, a part of him wanted to keep her here, the other one had more conscience. "If I had a chance, I would have put a ring on your finger first..."

_No, don't do this..._ A part of her was flattered, yet there was an acknowledgement that there was a certain ring in his possession. The ring that had been meant for somebody else and that his heart bled for her. But the fear that he was referring to that ring was shunned aside. To compete with that rival she could stand.

She believed that love grows if guarded right. There was something else, the worry that he might think how she had sold herself to him for an embrace, for a few hours of safety and illusion, and her heart would break if it were true.  
>An old habit of seeking hold of something around her neck emerged and her fingers found the pendant on her chest. Tracing the fine lines of an anchor she said: "Don't you see? This has already bound me to you."<p>

"People choose each other. For love, convenience, safety, money, company, various reasons. In the end, it all comes down to a choice. If you would choose me, I'd know how to appreciate a woman like you."

Still playing with the item between her fingers she confessed. "I don't know how to do this, Erik, I know nothing of love... "

_Love..._ It span inside his mind again and again. _"You make me feel..." _

He didn't dare to determine his feelings. _Love brings pain.  
><em>"It is a matter of devotion. And I would give you all I can. You know that I carry a burden and a big part of it is the fact that I tried to make someone love me."

"Did you hurt her?" The day she gave him her medallion, he told her that he let the girl go. But that girl has been his shadow all this time, there was more to the story.

"Not like that. I lied to her, I think it broke her heart in a way. That's why my wrists are bound, I don't want to hurt you."

She was almost certain that they are staring at the same crack on the table. _How many peels do you have?  
><em>So many people barely know each other before they are committed to one another. He had told her many things that no other would dare, and still she was drawn to him. _There is a heart under all that, I know... I want to get to it... _

"I can't make the same mistake again. It has to be your choice and it has to be for good."  
><em>It could be good. <em>It _was_ good, he thought to himself.  
>Her head wasn't up in the clouds, lost in dreams. She was nothing like Christine and finally he began to believe that if there was any woman who could put up with him, it would be someone strong and aware of reality. And he admired Isabelle, finding her fascinating, he could easily lose his head, over her or for her.<p>

"I wouldn't be here with you if I didn't believe in you. This is a whole new world for me... There is so much to learn about it."

"We both have much to learn. At least we can say that we have started on a solid ground."  
>At that moment he saw the color of her cheeks intense and realized what he just blurted out. They have started on a solid ground, a great part of last night they've spent on it, without a decent bed, and it made him embarrassed too.<p>

That crack on the table might extend and break the desk in two, she thought, if they keep staring at it every time a strange moment arises.  
>With a crack coming from the stove, she recalled something that she had been taught:<br>"It is like fire. That was what Josephine would say sometimes. One can't set a great fire out of nothing. First, there have to be sticks, shrubs, something that will feed the flame and secure the ember. And a spark. Only then can something larger burn, and one..." She smiled, realizing. "_Two_ need to learn how to keep it from burning out, just as well as consuming the entire house. Everything rests on little things. People as well."

Taking an apple this time and wanting to make a cut, he stopped, a question in his eyes tempting her to stop him.

Original sin came to her mind at an instant. And the one she has committed last night. _Temptation, that's what you are. And you know you're offering the forbidden fruit. _She couldn't tell if he was serious or just playing games, but either way, she nodded her head in approval whilst watching him suppress the devilish grin.

* * *

><p>Such a sight, to see her free, managing a large animal as though she had been doing it her whole life. "I still don't understand what could have kept you detached from world for so long."<p>

She stopped close to him and binding the horses again, whilst he fought the urge to stare at her form.

"Fear. It... _He_ will haunt me still. It is my burden." A moment of silence to think it through: "Can you accept that?"

"I wouldn't let you carry it alone."

The best thing to do was to leave these parts for a while, they both agreed on that. Either way, her personal things have been waiting at St. Pierre trainstation since yesterday, before she'd arrived here. If not before that she had challenged her enemy,now there was a solid reason to keep her safe. It was his responsibility and his pleasure to take care of that. Even if it was just an excuse to be next to her.

Returning to the house, she found something strange. There was a heart. A wooden one, in size of a human hand, carved out of that shapeless chunk which she has noticed the last time she was here. Holding it, she felt the fine smooth surface and the weight of it. It resembled those drawings in science books rather than the stylized version which the world preferred.  
>"It is more than just a fretwork, isn't it?"<p>

"At first I wasn't even thinking about the final result. After you 've told me to give her a heart, it just... came out. I guess it holds more life than one made of stone."

There was a cold tone in his voice but the fine work gave away the emotion put into this.  
><em>A heart, he actually carved a heart for his mother... He can't possibly be a bad man, with his own heart so... sentient.<em> He could pretend as much as he wanted but she could tell that he feels.

"Then it's time to give it to her."

He gazed at her, into her: "I had no intention of returning there."

"We could go together. Come to Rouen with me."


	20. Chapter 20

**Déjà vu **

Closer to the city, greater the risk of being recognized, it occupied his mind ever since they embarked on a train for Rouen. Nobody recognized him during his last stay there but someone out there must have heard stories about the disaster he had caused in Paris. Further from Gervais, better for Isabelle, that much was for certain and he wouldn't waste time with long walks across the countryside this time.

He looked at her, she was dedicated to the book in her hands but somehow sensed that she's being watched and lifted her gaze up to him. What a change in such a short time... Not a single sign of the little Amazon from last night, this was a lady right there in front of him. In a dress. The green one, he's seen it for the first time today. It flattered her figure. Her hair in a chignon. Charming.  
>The two of them as a pair couldn't possibly go unnoticed, whether his face be revealed or disguised in a mask or bandages or something else.<p>

"What is it?"

Like he needed a special reason to stare.

The departure was delayed. The older couple that shared their coupé has finally left the wagon with a polite «bon soir» some good fifteen minutes ago, and it seemed that there would be no progress from the station any time soon.

"It seems like there is a halt on the railway."

She stood up and opened the curtains on the window. Outside on the platform, a dusty wrought iron clock was aligning both dials showing it's quarter to nine in the evening. Hopefully, since no one likes a train late in departure, nobody else would embark and, of all available, choose to enter precisely their coupé. Pulling the screens on the entrance together, she made it clear that this one is taken, then simply took place by Erik's side.  
>"I thought that this was supposed to be faster than horses." The playful irony of her words lifted his spirit.<p>

A note has been sent to aunt Liz from the post office in St Pierre earlier today, along with the pair of horses tied up to the regular mail coach, a «special delivery». It was Isabelle's idea and he couldn't help but grin as the whole thing had a nice little dose of humor, never mind the fact that her family believed her to already be in Rouen.

"You can take it down now."

"What?"

"Your hand, or it will petrify and fall off by itself." Perhaps she was teasing but it was obvious that he wasn't comfortable around people.  
>For the past three quarters of an hour he kept his head leaned into his hand, looking out through the window, keeping his disfigured side out of sight as much as possible. The result was an appearance of a frowned man with a headache, in her opinion. The man on his left side hadn't paid much attention once he'd settled down but his wife - seated on the opposite has <em>noticed<em> and spent most of her journey mutely staring out into the passage with a blunt look on her face. Isabelle was glad they were gone now, just as well.  
>Having been facing him all the while, reading a book, or rather, pretending to be doing so while studying Erik's hand she's discretely been drawing it's features onto a piece of paper hidden between the pages.<br>Every line, every crevice just as it was in reality, without any embellishment, abandoning the old habit of making lines softer and smoother. Her own hand right there under his, caught in that peculiar moment when he suddenly roughly held it down the first time they surrendered to passion. _What have you been thinking of at that moment? _

He never noticed her secret deed and it felt like a little triumph. She smiled to herself, closing the supposedly read book. _I caught you this time, even if just on a mere sketch. Even if just a part of you. _

"I thought they'd never leave." The everlasting dislike of sharing closed spaces accompanied by strangers overtook him. He'd rather be alone with Isabelle but he highly doubted that the train conductor would merrily greet the idea of him blocking the entrance into the coupé. His eyes focused on her book.

_"Les Liaisons Dangereuses?_ Another scandalous one?_" _

Yes, that was his ironical tone she heard.  
>By «scandalous» he usually meant «interesting» or «worth reading».<br>She had read it twice by now, there was something familiar about a seduced young lady who had spent too much time sheltered behind the walls of a convent.  
><em>Am I involved in one? <em>Either way, she would not wish to identify with the naive little innocent.

"Perhaps a morality tale?" Or maybe just a novel which would make money due to controversy, in her opinion. One thing was for certain: "Laclos had mentioned it was supposed to be read by mothers and not their virtuous daughters. Of course, wouldn't hearing about that abet the latter ones to find a way to purchase it?" She put the book into her valise. "The good ones pay a great price for their sins, just as the bad ones do."

"They all either die or end up secluded, if I recall correctly. Valmont dies a fool, recognizing love only when it's too late. The wicked Marquise becomes permanently scarred and what a nice message... A face as a reflection of a soul." Again, an ugly face must mean a person is malevolent.

She knew what he meant. His own face. "Stop torturing yourself, Erik. People see what they want to see."

Tired, she leaned her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes. "I have chosen you just the way you are." The train was unmoving, no signs of departure anytime soon. She could fall asleep like this, she thought, as his arm came around her waist, and his head leaned down to hers. The only thing she would add in a soft voice was: "As long as you hold me, you're not alone."

"_You are not alone." Christine had said it as well, just before she left me. I can't let it happen again. _

For fear of losing her and his heart and his mind, he held Isabelle a little tighter. How normal it seemed to stay in physical contact, all the little things as holding hands, the magic of a touch still amazed him. They stayed that way for a long time, relaxing with every breath until he felt her drift into a light sleep.  
>Some time later, with a sudden piercing sound of a whistle and a massive jerk, the train started moving forward.<p>

* * *

><p>"Come on, there is plenty of architecture to admire inside too."<p>

_You are teasing me. _Either way, he followed her mumbling along the way. "Fair enough. I lure you into sin, you lure me into church..."

Since they've arrived to Rouen, they took their time, taking a long stroll in the morning, getting used to the city. Suddenly, there were so many people out on the streets, what a change from the lonely roads. But peaceful places would wait for the ones who want to find them. A church would always welcome two lost children, the doors were wide open. Erik only hoped that the ceiling wouldn't collapse and bury him alive.

The tips of her fingers touched the holy water before she made a sign of cross, he did not dare to do the same.  
>If not sacrilege, it would be hypocrisy from his side.<br>They humbly sat in the back, right under the balcony. The smell of wet stone and thyme lingered all around. With his hands leisurely covering each other on his lap, he watched her clasp her own, intertwining fingers, falling on her knees, closing her eyes. Feeling that this was her moment and he had no right to disturb, it finally became clear to him that she had lived in a convent. Religious or not, it was a great insight for him, somehow he tainted her. It didn't matter much to him that at some time it had been perfectly normal to keep a young lady in a place like that before she was to be married, just like in that novel she has been reading on the train.  
>What would be his punishment for this? He looked op to the ceiling above the altar, rays of sun shone through a colorful glass.<br>He had only one plea. _Do not take her away from me. I will learn to love her, do not take her away._

She felt a sudden need to pray, ashamed of how much time had passed since her last confession and yet, she was not even nearly ready to step into the confessional. What was there to say, that she has broken every rule which defined a virtuous woman?

"_Forgive me, Father for I have sinned..." _

_And yet, I do not repent._

_Haven't I paid in advance for this sin? I need him. Forgive me. _

"_Pater Noster qui es in caelis..." _Her lips slightly moved in a soundless prayer. Choosing Latin was something she'd do sometimes, just to reaffirm the knowledge of a language she otherwise had hardly had a chance to use. The other reason would be remembrance of the chants and services that had been sung in solemn occasions. It would have felt different while singing a prayer, more devoted.  
>No. She wouldn't fool herself.<br>This time, it was to keep the illusion, perhaps in a language that wasn't hers, she could keep her mind focused on the prayer itself and not the things implied.  
>It has always been easier to sing it out than articulate the words.<br>Words have meanings, and what if she didn't mean all of it?  
>She had been repeating this orison for countless times throughout her life, and now she had to pause before she could finish it. <em>"<em>_Et dimitte nobis__ debita nostra,: sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus __**..."  
><strong>_It hurt to confess the significance of it: _**"...**__and forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone who is indebted to us..."  
>Do we, indeed?!<em> It felt like the words would choke her as she continued.  
>She had never considered forgiving the man who had violated her. Not that he ever asked for forgiveness.<br>The rest of her prayer flew in an automatized repetition of words well known to her. It did not bring her ease, knowing that the rancor still smoldered deep inside her and she felt deep shame over that fact. Perhaps someone greater than her would be able to do it, but for her it was simply too much.  
><em>Forgive me, for I cannot forgive him.<em>

She seemed pale sitting by his side in silence.

It seemed that his mind is absent as well. After a few long minutes of contemplating he spoke:  
>"Is religion a big part of your life?!"<p>

"I don't know anymore. I have failed in following it blindly. I asked too many questions, wanting answers, never satisfied with what I've been given in return. Now I simply believe that it is something very different than faith."

He himself has never been introduced to this matters properly. What he had learned about it, was all from mere curiosity.  
>"I don't belong here. I've been christened, that much I know, but other than that, I have never received any other sacrament."<p>

"Does it matter much?"

With a deep intake of air, he prepared himself for saying it out. "Not to me. But the liaison between us wouldn't be given their blessing. And I have no right to put you into an embarrassing situation through living in sin." The current condition, however, did demand responsibility. And he meant to keep her, if only she'd want to stay with him.

She didn't expect this. _A blessing to our union? Do you mean...?_

"You've found a way into me and now I want you by my side. But this is reality, if I had met you earlier, it would have been much easier to keep you. You know what I am guilty of, there is always a risk of getting caught. If that should happen, it would be for the best that you are not connected to me. We could go abroad but I wouldn't want to condemn you to a lifetime in exile."  
>He knew that his game of wandering around was over, it was time to make amends, pull the strings and gain control over his life once again. The Phantom may be gone but he wasn't buried yet.<br>"Someday, when I make sure that we're not at risk... If you would want to... Dare I hope that you would be mine?" _I would learn... _

"I am already yours." It came out silently but assuring.

She was shaken by his rendition, never did she imagine herself to be... _Promised?_  
>All she knew was that it is something people choose, just like he had said, for various reasons, one of them was love. Just like before and like many times to come, she took his hand and held it tight. It gave him that peculiar feeling that this had happened before.<p>

* * *

><p>As she pulled the comb through her hair still wet from the hot bath, sitting in front of a vanity mirror, dressed in a chemise, one of those nice things Liz had convinced her to get, she thought how strange this situation seems.<br>She was waiting for a man to come into the room.  
>He was in the tub, she could hear the water drain down his body as he must have risen up. She imagined how those tense shoulders would surely be relaxed now, the hair on his arms and chest soaked and heavy, turning soft as it gets dry, the steam evaporating from his skin still moist ...<br>_Were you thinking the same while you were waiting for me? I will never be free of you, will I?_

They have signed in as a couple when they've arrived to the inn. She would never forget the way he had caught her alone two months ago, in that tavern, to tell her that they were playing roles of a brother and sister. This time it was much different. Offering his arm he stood by her side and as she held on, carefully covered her hand with his free one. As they followed the concierge he whispered almost soundlessly telling her to keep her gloves on. There was no ring on her finger. And yet...

The entire absurdity of the over-praised wedding nights came to her mind. To her, it seemed as a reckless custom. Especially for the bride, what must it be like for a maiden, often quite innocent in the ways of understanding of what it all means? To be given away to a man in a wedding ceremony, in front of everyone. With layers of silk and lace wrapping her, but still exposed. When everyone knows. The expectation. The whispers. The canny smiles when retrieving with the groom at the end of the celebration? And they know what is going to happen... That she is supposed to lay with a man, to fulfill her duty, to submit. _I wouldn't be able to do it, not like that._

She decided that she likes where she is right now. It seemed utterly selfish in a way because with this leap she has disgraced everyone who ever cared about her. Her mother would surely be ashamed of her, most of her family as well, maybe even aunt Liz. The sisters from St. Ursule would not believe it, swearing on the Holy book that she was not capable of doing this, and if they would believe it, they'd probably dedicate a Rosary to bring her back on the right way.  
>Then again, isn't love the right way?<p>

A mistress, it was a shocking term. Scandalous.

_No. Not a mistress, a lover._

There was something she couldn't understand. How can so many people divide emotion from matters of physical love?  
>To surrender to someone without a heart? A heart can't be separated from the body, neither could live on their own.<br>She would have been dying slowly if she was chained to someone who couldn't reach to her heart.

With nothing much to do, except wait for him, she sat, learning the details of the room but her thoughts wouldn't rest.

_What do I do, should I wait for him here? What does he expect? Will he want me, will he ask it of me? Do I even want it? _

A painting hung in the dark corner of the room, hidden in the shadows, as though it wasn't supposed to catch a guest's eye on the first sight._ Why would they shun it there?  
><em>She could see it in the mirror and coming closer to observe it, she knew why. A voluptuous nymph, stretching on the ground, asleep, her beauty glowing in the shadows, her skin pure and perfect, seemed pale in a contrast to her rosy cheeks. The long hair with a reddish glint falling all around her. _She must be dreaming... _Two dark male figures hovering above her, coming out of the shadows, the closer one holding a piece of fabric, a sheet, he could be putting it over her, or even more likely taking it away, revealing her completely unaware, unprotected, naked.  
>Something about it seemed familiar, she could almost relate to her as though she has dreamed something alike. <em>Or has it been for real?<em> The two intriguing satyrs, one hidden in the dark, lurking, the other one reaching out in a shameless motion of exposing her but still with something mysteriously tender about his appearance... _Two sides of Erik?_

She missed to hear him enter until his voice came from behind: "Beautiful, isn't she?"

_How long have you been standing there?_ It was a surprising situation to be caught unawares and suddenly she realized how fragile it feels in her robe even though she has been feeling him on her bare skin just two nights ago. "Gorgeous... Almost ethereal, I've never seen this one before."

He told her it was a faithful minor replica of «Sleeping Nymph And Satyrs», he'd seen it before, somewhere far. He must have known quite a lot about art, she could tell by the way he expressed it. She could listen to him for the rest of the night, talking about it, admiring it. There were many works of art presenting similar scenes but this one was one of his favourites. As a girl she had never had a chance to observe paintings with such thematic.

Through her robe and the nightdress she felt a movement, a stirr of warm air pass up and down her back, almost certain that he was going to touch her but suddenly pulled back at some point. At that moment she became absolutely certain that the satyr was uncovering the nymph and all she could do was wonder whether she has already been or was about to become his. There was something sensual about being exposed to another being, and the way this man stood close to her.

His head was full of images, all those pictures of similar subject, lustful satyrs and mesmerizing nymphs he had encountered, many of those in much more lascivious, revealing, erotic poses, some of them sexually explicit, this one seemed rather innocent in comparison. Even so, every strand of hair on his body has risen.

"I feel like I have seen it somewhere but I'm quite sure I haven´t. There is something familiar about it... Like recalling a dream." _It must have been that._ But if it was, then it must have been a strongly vivid dream, a hand caressing her skin.

He swallowed hard, almost betraying himself as he recalled that stolen moment when he woke up and touched her as she peacefully slept._ You couldn't possibly remember that, could you? _

"There is something so tender..." Silence took place as she felt his head gently pressed into her shoulder.

_Yes, there is. _He couldn't control himself, it was an unintentional automatic movement and all he could do was wait and see now. She tilted her head towards him, close enough for a kiss. This time it was intentional as he placed his lips onto her cheekbone.  
><em>Have we kissed since this morning?<em>  
>So many years without it and it had been such a long way for him. The first time a woman had ever kissed him, he had been dumbfounded, barely responding, the second time different, bittersweet, defeating. And now... Something new to discover, a whole new world of sensation. <em>Isabelle...<em> What he had waited for years, was now becoming essential and he suddenly couldn't wait even when it came only to hours.

Like two cats sharing their scent, their faces gliding close to one another. Both of them still fresh from the bath. She could feel his warmth along her back and it made all the blood rush into every sensuous part od her body. This wasn't going to stop here, something within her simply knew it, there was that pulsating feeling waking up inside her again. This is not what good girls should do. But it felt good.

He lingered on her lips for a brief time before pulling away. After pacing across the room, never leaving the square carpet in the center at the same time, he stood still, his back turned to her. Unsure if she herself wanted him to stay close to her, she sat down on the chair, confused by his sudden retreat. He sat on the edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands and then he smirked, as though he was plotting something. "I don't think they believed us today, when we signed in."

"Is it that obvious?" Does it really make such a remarkable difference, to be someone's lover and not a spouse, could the concierge notice?

In a soft voice, he finally spoke: "Isabelle..."

Silence.

"I want you by my side."

"I am right here."

His feet were bare, what a strange detail to notice at this moment. Maybe he likes it that way, she thought, so he can feel the ground beneath him. Real, man's feet, not hooves. Why _would I think of that?_ For a moment there was a smile escaping her in the corner of her mouth. _Not some strange creature, a man... _She did sit by his side, hesitantly.

His fingers reached out for the little anchor. "I remember you words. They said a lot, just like this... But a pendant doesn't mean anything in the eyes of the world, when strangely, a ring they do acknowledge."

_A ring?_

"Isabelle... This is not a game for me, I'm done with that." He took a deep breath once again. I will not force you into a union, that I had learned the hard way. But I do want you by my side."  
>It was clear to that he wanted her, not as a mistress, not a caprice.<br>A companion. His lady.  
>She took the chain off just as she did every night, putting it on the nightstand. Now there was no item that would mark her as his. "Yes."<p>

Wordlessly, he held her for a while.

They snuggled into the bed, side by side. He made no attempt to ask for her body. They simply lay together like those two carved spoons she remembered from that little house, fitting together.  
>Starting to feel dreamy, she liked that his hands caressed her. Innocently at first. As they relaxed, she could feel him shift a little, moving away slightly. Turning around to face him, she found him a little uptight. Touching his face, she wanted to ask if something is wrong but the way he responded already gave her a hint. Some of this she has learned that night.<p>

He knew that it would be a torture to have her this close and try to resist. _You're playing with fire._

Her finger on his lips, chin, the Adam's apple... He gulped, breathing out heavily. She had no idea what she was doing to him. Her hand stopped moving, resting on his chest.

In a swift motion, he turned leaning above her but not going further, looking at her with those piercing unreadable eyes. That was the dominant Erik, again. She remembered well. He burned passionately last time. His immense need to be wanted against her shy desires.

He said it without hesitation. "I want you to want me."

Another hot tremulant breath. The covers slipped down from his upper body, falling somewhere in between them. "And not any other way." Like a reminiscence of a previous life when he tried to seduce, proud and powerful.

_Do I?_

Blaming it on that glass of wine over supper, she dared to nod. _If I'm yours, then so be it. _He lowered himself a bit. His hot tongue against hers, then breaking apart returning to her lips, to her throat, lower yet... Taking in every movement and reaction. The cover between them was pulled away. She thought of the painting.

_This is the moment. A nymph. A satyr. _

His shirt disappeared in the darkness, in some abandoned corner, his hands came under her nightdress, removing it slowly, exploring her body. His long fingers glided in circles outlining her areola, then cupped the full breast. This time she was completely sure that something alike has happened before.

She touched him, the searing hot skin. As she let him between her legs, she could feel him aching and wanton. He ventured into her the only way he knew - led by instinct.  
>Accepting him one movement at a time, little by little, his presence filled her. It was quite good, delightful, and if only it weren't for that insidious pain that arose with his progress.<p>

She never noticed her own moan, only that he stopped moving.

"Am I hurting you?" He breathed it out tense, still on top of her.

_Should I tell him?_ The silence gave her away. Slowly, he pulled away. Feeling abandoned, she reached out for his neck. _It wasn't supposed to be like this._

He accommodated a little, leaning on an arm, the other one never leaving her side. _Slowly._ _We can do this... Gently. _"Show me..." From her breast, that crafty palm run down her belly.

She didn't quite understand.

He drew invisible lines and shapes over her skin. Lower.

Lower yet.

His hand came down to the place he was burning for. "Guide me..."

"How?"

"Show me how to touch you."

Her cheeks burned in the dark, realizing what he just asked of her. _Oh..._ She didn't dare, but he wouldn't retreat. _ I shouldn't do this..._

The temptation. Those alluring hoarse whispers... "Give me your hand, put it over mine..."

She obeyed, trembling fingers on the back of his hand. She didn't do much, only following. He moved slowly, in between her secret feminine parts, caressing, stirring, finding a way in gentle circles. Gradually, discovering a unison. It was a moment out of her control when she pressed his hand harder against herself. There was no use of thinking about it.

"Like this?" He kept the steady movement, thrilled to feel her quivering breath.

"Yes."

Never having touched a woman like this, he was learning to find a way to this one, to awake her veiled desires.  
>In return, she'd learn to accept him, entire him. They kept on, until she was ready to feel more of him. She'd let him. She wanted it. <em>Take me... Make it fade away...<em>

Facing each other, lying on their sides, they clasped together. She was ready now, allowing him to pull her closer and lead her leg over his hip. Feeling him inside, she followed his lead until something made her follow her own path.  
>It felt like filling a jar of water, narrow just below it's opening and when the level would reach the edge and pour out, that wonderful sensation would come rising to the wavy surface.<br>An extraordinary experience, but as if there was a crack in that imaginary jar and as much as they poured in, working together like a well adjusted mechanism, the level could not reach the top, rising, falling, stagnating, rising again.

It could last until the well drained out... She would have liked it.

It was good, she was so close to something unknown, feeling it at the edge of her senses, but it slipped out of her grasp and she relaxed, just feeling him. Then she felt the heat opening up inside her as he shuddered.

He fell down by her side spent and panting. His body was satisfied but he longed to give more to her, knowing that he wouldn't rest until then. Her body came closer, her head above his heart.

One thing he had learned. To hold her tight. It fulfilled in a different way, somewhere around the heart where it felt incredibly warm.

"Someday..."

She said nothing after that and he listened to her breathing, calm and steady, drifting away.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I will not use this space to play smart this time, all in all, it is a beautiful painting by W. Etty, a good book by Laclos, and intriguing mythological creatures which got involved into this chapter by mere coincidence and simply fit in. **


	21. Chapter 21

**Some kind of magic **

Macabre shadows came to life, she could not see at first but she _felt_ them moving all around while the fierce neighs pierced through the silence.  
>The leather strains stretching and snapping from the vigorous struggle of a dark horse going mad with fear and fury. That horrible noise... His eyes, oh, she could envision the vessels bursting under pressure, painting those bewildered eyes in red, mottled with blood, but she did not want to look.<p>

There was something heavy, as if some sinister creature was bringing her body down, pressing heavily on her ribcage, disabling her from any movement like a giant spider. That's why the horse went crazy. Even the animal knew and wanted to run him over, thumping him to death with those heavy iron shod hooves, but the straps wouldn't break. She was helpless, fighting in vain, her body wouldn't obey her mind. The weight was crushing her down, she could almost hear her chest collapse as the air was squeezed out.

_Not again..._

A dream. ..._that dream... _So vivid. She was paralyzed.  
>She couldn't even open her eyes but the images were there nonetheless, forming spontaneously as the moment seemed to have no ending.<p>

Then the disturbing pictures vanished into blackness.

She couldn't breathe. She could not gasp for a single breath of air.

And she fought so hard.

_I can't wake up! _

Locked in a dream, she was completely aware, all her attention went to her inability to move. If only one single movement! Just _one_... She would know. She would believe that the nightmare would be over in that single life-saving intake of air.

The dread has overflown her, like an alabaster shell restraining her every desperate attempt to move. Perhaps a finger, deep down in some forgotten corner of her mind something was telling her that it should help. Maybe just a tip of the finger, all her focus was on one sole movement. The numbness of her limp body made her panic every time.

_This is my body!_

Her heart pounded amok, threatening to burst. Reminding herself to breathe, she kept trying.

_I can't move... I can't wake up..._

Her finger yanked. Harder than moving a rock but she did it again, it moved, her fist clenched in an effort to take control. It would be alright, she thought, somewhere deep inside knowing that she should open her eyes because this can't last, this couldn't be it.  
>But the alarm in her brain still declined to accept that fact as the body refused to cooperate. The confusion and the exhaustion took over and just for a brief instant she resigned and got sucked back into the paralyzing pandemonium. <em>No! It is a dream!<em>

With a forceful twitch she started, gasping for air which burned her lungs.  
>Breathing.<br>Living.  
>Perhaps she would have shrieked if her lungs could have forced the process of it. Sitting up, she began explaining the latest experience to herself.<p>

This had happened many times before.

Each time gave her a fright.  
>How she hated those incidents in which she couldn't make the tiniest move! Commonly, there wasn't much to describe them, just the agonizing inability to wake up and breathe in, ever since her childhood, even before <em>that night<em>. Usually, it would end in a sudden hitch and it would be over.  
>The worst part was the awareness of it all and the doubt that perhaps this time, there would be no waking. Not entirely a dream, she learned with time, perhaps a moment of transition between a dream and reality, when her body seemed to be numb and late in reacting.<br>It filled her with terror, to stay that way, captured inside.

Pulling the covers off, as the rustle ceased, she heard breathing.

Realizing the presence of a man beside her, recognizing Erik, she carefully stood up, leaving him alone and asleep.

A rectangular shape on the wall brought the painting and everything that followed back to her mind. She may have fallen asleep enchanted in the arms of a satyr, but she awoke in her own version of _Nachtmahr_ and there seemed to be no mercy for her.  
>She couldn't help but compare the two works of art, both of them were amazing, enchanting, with something in common: a defenseless sleeping woman and the dark creatures hovering above her.<br>Somehow, tonight, in her dreams, one turned into another. The latter one she found utterly striking as well as disturbing. Even though she had only seen replications in her father's books and perhaps graphic prints, she admired that painting as much as it gave her chills, and she could almost imagine herself caught in it.  
>How could she have had known as a child that it would resemble the ugly truth so much? She had even deeper, more powerful impression now, years later. The horse was not in this dream by coincidence, neither was the malicious sneering demon pressing down on her, it was almost as if she were in that accursed horsestable once again.<p>

Completely naked, not even caring to cover herself, she had only one aim in walking across the room. She needed fresh air and only when approaching the window did she become aware of her nudity. Grabbing her nightdress from the corner of the bed, she covered herself. Reaching out for the knob, her hand shook a little and staring at it's shape in the dark, she was glad that she can move it freely.

Outside, the streets were empty. Nobody could see her in the shadows. She left the casement slightly ajar and retrieved into safety of the darkness in their room.

For a brief instant she saw a reflection in the mirror, something tall and dark was standing in the corner. She turned around with a wince, only to realize there was nothing but a coat rack, with a few items hanging there. With a little imagination, she could mistake the spikes on the top for the bestial horns. Uncomfortable in the new territory, something lured her to turn on the lights, but she didn't want to wake Erik. She decided that the light in the bathroom should serve well enough.

The door was slightly open as she studied the room. Her eyes assimilated to the darkness and revealed the slight disarray. She put the slipping cover back on the bed, picked up their discarded clothes, found his shirt, straightened it out and put it on that unfortunate lurid hanger. If the viewer's senses should become blurry, it seemed to her, the lines and stripes on the walls could leave an impression of a giant cage.

The old wallpaper closed around her with green and brownish stripes, repeating the sample, exchanging the colors in a steady rhythm. Except for one place, that pitiful corner behind the door, where the two unfit papers met. The scheme was interrupted, broken, throwing the sample out of the regular rhythm. She couldn't understand how the owners could just leave it be.  
>The little bug that made her seek for order wouldn't rest, just like she wouldn't be able to rest tonight if she kept thinking of the most recent dream. Searching for a first-hand solution, she thought of the coat rack, shoving it into that corner in an attempt to hide the pattern that went amiss, secretly glad that at least the ghastly hanger won't show in the mirror anymore.<p>

Not wanting to fall asleep, she sat on the bed, watching her lover stretched out in the mild embrace of a summer night. The faint light of the street lamps dissolved the darkness, melting the night into lenient tones. A part of her missed the obscurity of that secluded little house where they have shared their first passionate tryst. The city was robbed of such charm. Yet, another side of her was astir to see him exposed this way.

Vulnerable. Relaxed. A man.

Naked. Somehow, it felt strange to be in that nightdress when only a while ago they were equal in their nudity.  
><em>Why not? It is only him, the doors are locked, it is dark...<br>_Without thinking much, she reached out for the hem, set herself free from the clothing and, completely bare, found that she likes it this way. It felt natural.

Isabelle's eyes traveled all over his masculine form, learning the landscape of his body, the parts where her hands have traveled, the parts where they still haven't... She wanted to know him all.

The muscles, the hair, the scars... His skin, mottled with shadows. It must have been ravaged many times, the living proof was right in front of her, stretching here and there, scars which faded but never vanished, across that firm back and on the arms, from the elbows, down to his hands, those skilled crafty hands. _Defensive wounds._  
>She remembered some girls from St. Ursule's, who had been beaten, having similar injuries too. Some of them would say that it is the first strike that hurts the most and after that, you go numb. <em>How many times did they hurt you? <em>

She didn't want to imagine him as an abused child, but couldn't fight it. It was disturbing just to imagine a boy trying to protect his head from cruel blows, resigned, waiting for the beating to stop, secretly plotting his way out. It was easier to think of him as a survivor, strong and defying the cruel fate.

There was a tiny bluish shadow on his chest, only now did she notice it under the light hair. _Is it a scar as well? A faded tattoo? A birthmark? _It may have been just her subjective mind playing with her, she knew that well, but in the dark she could almost swear that it's irregular shape resembled to an anchor and it made her thoughts wonder.  
>Placing her index finger on it made him stir.<p>

_No, don't wake up yet. _

He shifted slightly and calmed under the fondling of her palm which followed the slow rhythm of his breathing. Lying down, her head pressed against the muscles of his upper arm, it felt nice there. The tips of her fingers passed through the hair of his chest and lower to his stomach. He stirred again.

Then she saw it, unexpected and surprising.

On their first night, she had only caught a shy glimpse but now it was in her plain sight, although in shadows. Erik slept but that lustful part of him was quite awake, shamelessly erect, steering towards her hand. She kept still, waiting.  
>Nothing happened, for a few long moments she did not dare to move, thinking he'd wake up any second. <em>What would you do?<em> Little by little she realized that he wasn't going to, and found the fact intriguing. _Even in your sleep?_

It was strange how she has accepted him inside her own body, been touched by him in an utterly intimate way but she has not touched that part of him yet.

He was lost somewhere in his dreams, looking harmless. She tried to comprehend the situation, finding that she was the one in control, almost as if she had some mysterious power over him at the moment. Her hand ventured lower, slowly, just trying to see how far she dares to go. Right next to it.  
><em>There, so close.<em> Within her reach. And he would probably never realize.

Her eyes kept returning to his face, ready to trace any sign of his reaction. _Maybe just for a brief moment... You wouldn't even know, would you?_

Her fingers opened up reaching out through the air just above him. If someone would have had told her a little over two months ago that this was going to happen, she'd run away repulsed. And now... She didn't find it unpleasant.  
>It was intriguing. <em>Look what you've done to me. <em>_Is a woman supposed to allow herself such liberties?_

She bit her lip, curious but hesitating, her teeth pressed harder against her own flesh, nibbling in anticipation. Only a light touch with the tips of her fingers, she felt him briefly, pulled back instantly, and then finding that nothing unexpected happened, she gathered courage, tracing a line up his length.  
>He was firm... Warm... Pulsating...<p>

Her hand came back to his abdomen, after lingering lower a few seconds longer than she first intended. It was enough, for now it was just enough.

He shifted in his sleep searching without avail for that something unknown that stirred him, turning over and calming down only as her felt the warmth of her body and then kept dreaming on with a silent groan, mumbling something indistinctly.

_Dreams can be tricky, Erik. _

Her head came to rest by his shoulder, smiling. _Don't you know?_

* * *

><p>With the murmur of a city coming to life, sounds of squeeky wheels and steps clicking on the paver blocks echoed through the empty passage somewhere below. The unwelcome noise forced him to open his eyes. He was pretty sure that the window has been closed last night.<br>There was someone gently clutching his upper arm and he turned to face her. She slept.

It took him a few minutes to get up, sluggishly. Pulling his pants on, his eyes roamed aimlessly around the room looking for his discarded shirt, almost sure it had landed somewhere on the floor. He almost gave up on searching when he noticed it neatly hanged in the corner.

Something was clearly different.

He was absolutely certain that the coat rack has not been in that corner yesterday.

Looking at Isabelle sleeping peacefully, as though he would get his answer there, he couldn't find one.  
>No, not just «peacefully».<br>«Innocently» seemed a much better term.  
>Like she had absolutely nothing to do with this small oddities. Her arm enveloped a pillow which apparently served as a substitute for his shoulder.<p>

_What have you been doing last night? _

If not since he'd met her, right now he was quite ready to believe in fairies, nymphs, enchantresses, whatever he'd be offered as an explanation for the way his life turned upside-down. Adjusting his shirt, he was almost surprised that none of the buttons were misplaced by some mischievous magical creature.

The next time he looked at his lover, he found her looking back at him.  
>She must have noticed the curious gaze as she herself gave him a questioning one.<p>

He didn't say a word, shaking his head with that suppressed smile that seemed to be stronger than his own will, betraying him in the corner of his mouth the very moment as he noticed her eyes were smiling at him.

* * *

><p>The carriage jiggled, taking them further on. He'd rather stay in Rouen for another few days. They would come back soon but still, if he should make a choice based on the criteria of what would feel good, they wouldn't even leave that room at the inn. Though he could find numerous reasons to avoid this trip, he knew it would probably haunt him.<p>

"She is dead. There is nothing else left for me to do there." Time after time, he couldn't keep himself from ranting a little.

"Tell that to the heart you're carrying with you."

There, she seemed to have a perfect reason why he should go. And the irony was that he himself had given her one. That wooden piece he didn't know what to do with. It had simply been created, without thinking of the outcome, something to keep his hands occupied while his head was overflown with the ideas about his heartless mother.

"Sometimes, the only way out is straight through the fire. You have said that yourself. Besides, I want to see where you come from."

"There is nothing nice about that story."

"All you have are pieces of a story. Maybe we can find a way to put them together."

He sighed in defeat, knowing she had a point when she had told him that he generally talks to people with an aim, ending the conversation as soon as possible. No wonder he had found nothing much the last time.

They were already used to the road, always going somewhere, looking ahead. He wondered for a countless time, what is it that keeps her moving on and on, by his side.

"Aren't you tired of the endless roads?"

"No. There is always something new to find. I like that, even if it comes down to seeing the sun set beyond a different horizon."

"The last time I was passing this parts, something kept tempting me to simply move forward."

"Where to?"

"I don't know. Perhaps Le Havre. After that, wherever the first ship carries me."

She sighed. "I always wanted to travel. But I never got much opportunity for that." The wistful moment didn't last for long. There was something else that made her wonder. "But you went back."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I am not sure. Something lured me." _Or someone._  
>"I was too numb to keep wandering around. There was nothing, <em>no one<em> ahead. It had never mattered before but... This time there was a friend who cared."  
>He brushed the skin of her palm right through the tiny dimple of her lace gloves. Such a small surface but what a spark searing through it...<p>

"Or maybe someone cast a spell on me." That deep, playful tone of his words elicited a secret smile on her face.

"I am glad you came back. I don't want to imagine what it would be like if you didn't."  
>She was certain there would be emptiness, a heart yearning for something she wouldn't know how to replenish. Her fingers intertwined with his, grasping firmly, not bothering how anyone else would interpret it to themselves. At some point, she simply stopped caring about those things. After such a long time living with that cold feeling of belonging nowhere, she felt good belonging to <em>someone<em>.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_**Der Nachtmahr **_**( Füssli, 1781 ) is one of my favorite works of art. It is a painting filled with erotic and demonical elements and it also became a symbol of sleep paralysis. The psychological background of the picture is very rich and I only wish I was older and wiser to interpretate it and perplete it into this story more expertly. **

_**Sleep paralysis **_**is an experience which occurs either when falling asleep or awakening, when the body fails to follow the instructions of the brain. The phenomenon can also be accompanied with hallucinations, an acute sense of danger etc. It is estimated that about 20 - 60% of population will experience it at least once in their life, but it is also not uncommon for a person to have the experience repeating throughout lifetime. As described in folklore of many countries around the world, it has been considered a work of demons or similar supernatural forces. Also the origin of the word **_**nightmare **_**is connected to it :)**


	22. Chapter 22

**Not alone **

The last time he had been here, it was supposed to be the last one as well, some sort of a final farewell to that part of his life. He had contacted a priest and the registry then. Perhaps if the old local physician would have been alive, he'd bring himself to visiting him too, but his successor most likely had no useful information. Remembering the uncomfort when seeing that _Pietà_ in Father Antoine's rectory, for a moment he felt like turning back, seeing no purpose in this. His mother was dead. Everyone dies in the end.  
>Perhaps deep down, he refused to know her just as she had been refusing him.<p>

They've just missed a post-carriage and walked down the dusty road. A curious gaze would follow them every so often, unused to see such peculiar strangers walking around. He had been right, the two of them could not have passed unnoticed as a couple. The more they moved to the edge of the village, the more did those dilapidated cottages and musty houses seem to evaporate poverty from every corner. Meeting each face that seemed just about old enough, he wondered whether anyone remembers the story of a child who carried a Devil's mark on his face.

He missed his mask.

For the first time since he had crawled out of his lair, he felt like he truly _needed_ to hide behind it, to disguise in any way possible. He did not want to be recognized as a rejected child.  
>Tilting his hat lower on his eyes, he thought of his white half-mask, the one he had been used to wearing for most of the time out of his cave, the one he was best known by, that same one which little Meg, for whatsoever reason, had tucked into her shirt that night. That mask contained a big part of the Phantom's personality.<p>

It was not supposed to be like this. Not ever. Baring his face to the world was meant to be his confession: _"Take a look... Here, gloat, feast your eyes! How much will it take you to bring a raging mob after me? Will you let Her see what she'd done first?" _But his mother was gone. And the peasants knew nothing of the Opera, did they? All they could see was another poor devil or a suspicious vagabond among them.

When Isabelle noticed him staring back at people and the poor conditions all around, as though he had been searching for something that only he had known about, she asked him whether he was ashamed of his origins. He didn't know for sure. Not because of the poverty but for the prejudice and some sort of people's propensity to stay ignorant.

She held his hand, undoubtedly leading him deeper and deeper to the core. A part of him preferred not to know. It has been much simpler to believe that his mother had hated him because of his accursed face, that she had no feelings at all. Still, there were countless times when he'd ask himself _why_. There were numerous babies born sickly and imperfect into this world. And even so, their mothers would at least shed a tear or two for them, maybe even a smile, a kiss, anything other than bleak coldness.

The moment they showed up at her door, Agnès - the former midwife, took them in from head to toe as precisely as her eyes still allowed her. She may have been an old woman with impaired vision and trembling hands but her tongue and memory served her quite well. It didn't take her long to bring a conclusion of her own accord, that the young lady must be in a blessed condition and therefor looking for advice or services.

Isabelle turned pale before her cheeks would inevitably flush with the idea of pregnancy. For that short time the world stopped spinning and almost kicked her off the steady ground. Turning to her companion, she noticed that he was still white, with a blunt look, most likely left speechless.  
>They exchanged quick glances before she cleared it out. Under different circumstances it might have been funny.<p>

"No, madame. We are not here because of me. We wish to talk about an infant that was born years ago. Perhaps you could still remember something about it."

"Well there, I jumped to the conclusion since... Are you sure?"

Isabelle confirmed a little too quickly in embarrassment. Erik still looked as though he needed it assured one more time, so she made it clear with a significant look as the woman turned her attention from her.

"I could remember a lot of them but there had been so many over the years. Which one was it that you want to know about?"

He finally managed to say something:"It was a little over thirty-four years ago..." He cleared his throat. "A boy was born by a woman called Valerié. They named him Erik and the last name had been changed some time later..." He gave up on explaining, not wanting to form yet another of those ideas whether or why his father would hesitate in admitting paternity. Almost in an arrogant way, he studied the walls, a crucifix here, a doily there, a candle by some saint's picture there in a corner. "It doesn't matter. Much more significant is the fact that he was born with a... _flaw_. On his face. Later he was told that it was a sign of the Devil himself."

His gaze roamed all around the room, then came to avert down when he felt the dull pair of half-blind eyes examining his deformity as the old woman stood up from her chair, leaning forward.

"I doubt you'd forget that one easily. They say it had been a horrible surprise for both the mother as well as the midwife."

"I see..." She seemed confused by the fact that it was all so obvious. The boy in question was now a man standing in front of her.

* * *

><p>He sat on the bench, surrounded by tombstones, statues and crosses. No matter what all those dead souls may have believed during their lifetime, eventually they all ended up the same. The flowers on the graves wither, the candles burn out, the inscriptions fade... Some already forgotten, some of them still living in the memory of their beloved but even that would not last eternally. When the last of them pass, the memory would be lost just the same.<p>

Stories vanish in the whirl of time.

An angel cut from stone watching over a child's grave reminded him yet again of his sinful lies to Christine. Does she remember him every now and then? With dread or regret?

No one escapes death. He breathed in the smell of cypress, cold wet stone and freshly dug out soil, it was soothing, warning him that he is here temporarily and it is only a matter of time, mortality is reality. Had he died by any case as an infant, would Mother have cared to recall his memory every so often or was there simply nothing in that void where she should have kept a little love for her son?

What he could remember most clearly about Mother was that he'd follow her around the house, craving for a little attention and being pushed away in return. Led to believe from his earliest days that it was because of his face, he had never thought that it might have been the same had he been born normal. The story he heard today implied that.

Slowly, he was putting the pieces together: he was unwanted from the beginning. It was devastating to accept that fact. His face was not his fault. His birth was not his decision.  
>Leaving one troubled wreck of a home, still far too young, his mother had thought how she might escape the fate. She dared to hope and all she got in return was disappointment when she found herself trapped in a story of the same kind. Realizing, though only when it was too late, that this time there was no way out.<p>

Not with a child in her womb.

As his unwanted but apparently sturdy life had been growing within her womb, slowly it had been sucking her youth and agility, tearing apart the last of hopes and dreams she had secretly nourished, the hopes of escaping the sort of life which she was condemned to.

And perhaps only Mother could have told whose spawn he truly was, just like they'd say in the full swing of vilification. The man whom they married her off to, as it seemed, found reason enough to suspect. She had been paying him way too dearly for that. Even Agnès suspected so, the bruises screamed about the things which Mother preferred to keep silent about. Had that been the cause? Not that he'd ever know, she had carried that secret into her grave.

All he knew was that she had closed the door of her heart even before she could have laid her eyes on him.  
>Maybe because he wasn't her husband's child, or maybe exactly because he was. Maybe because a child had <em>chained <em>her to that life.

She had feared having him even more after coming down with a severe fever and a strange rash they hadn't known how to treat, when not even the doctor could have known for certain whether it was a degenerate kind of some better known contagion. It hadn't seemed to fit into a clear picture. Even less had they known if it might have had affected the child in her womb. And when he had been born with that blemish, they hadn't known whether to treat it like a sore, infection, or just leave it be when none of the ignorant attempts could help.

Mother's world had fallen apart when she couldn't even find what she had secretly wished for: an inner escape in her child. So young and helpless, she seemed unable to connect with the baby. And yet, she had kept him, maybe because she feared God, he doubted that, maybe because she feared people's judgement, or perhaps because she knew no different.

Blaming herself, for she had always been told that it is a woman's fault, that men were never to blame if there was something wrong with their offspring, she had silently carried her cross of mistreat, closing herself from everyone. Once he heard it from Agnès, he realized that pretty much all of his early memories are placed inside their four walls. Looking out through the window, mother would often tell him that nobody would want them out there.

Unable or too afraid to show that she loves him back, even though he would have helped her carry that burden with his thin but sinewy little body that often bore bruises as well, she failed to see how much he wanted to be her comfort. She stayed in that misery, in some sort of self-punishment, until the child ran away from her neglect and his father's fists and the snaps of his belt. He ran because that man had told the boy that he was unwanted.

And with that escape the boy _liberated_ his mother, giving her a chance to take a flight herself.

Her husband swore he'd kill her if she ever returned, but he never went after her, he never got much further than the local taphouse. Everything fell apart after their run, including that house. She never came back. All Agnès had heard was that she had run back to her own mother's village and this was where she eventually died.

This was where his quest would end_. _

Somehow it made sense. He never gave a damn about his father. He always missed Mother's love.

"Why?"

The true reasons he would never know. There were too many possibilities and some of them made him sick.

The steps behind him could only belong to Isabelle, her hand came to his shoulder and he covered it with his own. Never before would he allow himself to trust someone enough to let them come behind his back with his own eyes shut firmly. Only once, the first time Christine had unmasked him... And that ended badly.

"She didn't want me, Isabelle. She didn't love me."

A soothing voice came down to him. "You cannot be sure of that. Her side of the story will never be heard, only what you could get from others. One thing you do know, why don't you admit it? She had kept you and she stayed until you were gone. Don't let the confusing facts overpower what you feel. Erik, she must have cared."

"It is hard to believe that after so much time. They would all behave like I didn't have eyes or ears but I've seen and I've heard their mean words, when they would say that not even a mother could love me. I've always been told that it was because of my face. And she never cared to prove otherwise..." Suddenly, he just grew silent.

"That would be too shallow and wrong."

"And you think that you would be able to overlook such a flaw?" That objection, coming out a little rash, was supposed to prove her wrong.

That awkward situation from earlier today came back to her mind, the idea of being with a child. It was exactly what he meant.

She made it certain without reservation. "Yes."

He wasn't sure. His mind was storming. "But you don't know what it is like to be pointed at, feared of, stigmatized... I shouldn't have asked... Why, but I _had_ to! It is hard but it is the cruel reality. We... No, _I _haven't thought of that in time, I've done nothing to prevent it, selfishly forgetting that consequences were a possibility..."

"A child?" That calming voice silenced him.

He went mute, gulping hard, afraid, upset with his own unthinking actions. He was angry with himself. Then it came out as a downpour from a stormy cloud: "What if it happens? There is always a risk. What if it was afflicted with this same face? I wouldn't want you to suffer the same way my mother had to. I wouldn't want a child to go through all that pain..."

Interrupting his speech, she held his hand, stopping it from rising to his scars. "Don't you know it by now? I would not be here if I feared that. I would never let our child grow without love." She studied him, evaluating the cognizance of her words on his once again sallow face.  
>"Dare you tell me that you would do otherwise? You know better than that! Because you know how much it hurts."<p>

"And you have yet to learn. It would affect you, and severely. Never mind the world, what would your own family say? I lived like a _ghost_ for years, Isabelle! Like I was unworthy of being one of them... "

"Why are you projecting your own fears on me? If they shun my child, they shun me as well." She stood up decisively.  
>"There are people who do have a heart. Josephine wouldn't close her doors on me, if anyone could understand, then it would be her. Isn't there someone, one person in your life whom you believe would do the same?"<p>

_One._ Maybe. The only person that came to his mind was Madame. Even if Giry might slam the door into his face, he still believed that she wouldn't do it to a helpless child. "Yes."

"That is more than enough to begin with. Every child has a right to feel loved. A child that is born from something beautiful..." She couldn't miss his blunt expression when he heard that last word, she had to repeat it.  
>"Yes, <em>beautiful<em>, it doesn't necessarily demand perfection! How could it be anything less than wonderful? Would you deny yourself the joy of living because of some strange fear that it might turn out the harder way? Would you rather never love at all because it might break your heart? We can't possibly know what awaits us further on. All we can do is have faith and trust in each other."

Something about her made him believe. Lately, he believed her more than himself, experiencing trust, something he'd never had before. "Good. Because I don't want to let you go."

But he knew that belief does not always go together with understanding. It wouldn't let him rest, not now. His fingers pressed against his head as he felt miserable, sitting on the graveyard, discussing matters of life and death in some way. Her words rang in his head: _Every child has a right to feel loved. _

"Then what is it that could make a mother despise her own flesh and blood?" A part of him still didn't want to know. "Every child, you say? Many are born out of things that are far from beautiful. And you know it."

Silence fell between them for she could imagine one reason, appalled to even think of it. With a heavy sigh, she clutched tight at his arm. He must have thought of something alike too, shocking her with a question:

"Tell me the truth... Could you ever love a child planted in your womb against your consent?"

Her voice quivered. "Good Lord, Erik! You mean..."

"...A rapechild."

Could she? If not, would she hate it instead? Would a product of an abhorrent sin be condemned to remain unloved? The uncertainty terrified her.

"Why would you torment yourself with that? Or me, for that matter? It was not the case with you as far as we know. And I am immensely grateful that it didn't happen to me either." Unprepared to face the matter, she braced herself, standing firmly. Afraid to find the truth herself, but not wanting any other way but honesty_,_ she silently confessed:

"I don't know."

He buried his forehead into his hands, almost disappointed. Not because of her sincerity, maybe because of being used to blaming his own mother for being heartless without a rightful reason. And if anything, either of many other horrible things that came to his mind, would make a damn firm reason.

He would rather have heard a «no» then a vague answer. Thus far he has learned that teeter-tottering between the two opposite possibilities was likely to go in favour of the one which Isabelle felt to be right within her heart. And he was not ready to hear a «yes» right now.

She took a few steps forward, away from him. "Would you think less of me if I told you I couldn't? It would be a lie because I truly don't know. How could I possibly know?" _Why do you ask me such things?_

Staring into her back, he could sense the hint of hurt in her voice. It made her seem more earthly, more human. He reached out for her arm, tugging her lightly towards him. "Of course I wouldn't. Never. But now I can't stop imagining that it must have been something horrible that led her to treat me like she did."

It gave her a little encouragement. "It is not the child who is to blame but... To look at it every day, reminded of the way it had been brought to existence... I am ashamed of admitting this, Erik. I wouldn't know how to cope with that." She paused, blending with stillness that lingered around them. She needed to clear it out within herself first.

"I wouldn't hate it. How could I blame it for anything? It would be _mine_, more than... It is so hard to answer that. It is _not_ fair!" Her throat clenched, threatening to cry.

"No one will ever convince me that it is a blessing, not under such circumstances! What a morbid way to be «blessed»! Nobody has the right to say such things! They do not know what it is like to be robbed of the control over your own body because of some monster's deviant act!"

"...But neither would I call an innocent child a curse..." They both went quiet for a while as she tried to put her thoughts into some order.

"I would care about it, I am sure. Too many children are being abandoned day after day. Healthy, sickly, poor, even wanted. It would have been hypocritical of me to do anything less than care, or at least to ensure that it was put into safe arms. Erik, if little ones that were nothing of mine, no matter the circumstances they might have been conceived in, could make me melt..." She felt that it was crucial to be careful about this. She looked at him straight into the eyes.  
>"How could I close my heart to my own? Oh, God... Have you ever even held one in your arms?"<p>

His own eyes seemed washed out as he gave her a dull look. It was more than obvious that he never had.

Suddenly, she endeared herself, showing a weary smile, sitting down next to him. "You haven't. I have, plenty of times. I've even witnessed a child coming to life. It is only natural to grow fondness for them and to care. I would try." Closing the chapter, she seemed distant, as though she was telling it more to herself: "I would try and learn how to grow love. "

He was more than content when she told him that, knowing that she is capable of giving so much more. He promised her that if it happens, he would find a place and create a little world if there were a need. He had no intention on letting go now that he had someone.

* * *

><p>For a long time he just stared at the grave wanting to say goodbye, not knowing how, taking his time. That heart he had carved was still waiting in his pocket, something was telling him that it belongs to the one buried there and he would lay it there to rest. He dug a hole in the ground just beneath the cross. His dirty fingers felt the smooth surface of the item and found a crack on it. There was a line strikingly darker and deeper than the others, a slight disturbance which seemed to reveal that it was imperfect, like the one which had once been alive and sentient.<p>

_A heart with a crack. No one will ever hear her story..._

Closing his eyes, he found something familiar in the scent of wood and soil. The smell evoke that strange emotion. Though the recollection of his earliest years was very poor, he was sure about this. As if he had been carrying it within, unaware of that memory all this time and now it seemed to send him a secret message. A blurry flashback of _Mother _moving away from him every time _someone_ came into the room, as though she shouldn't have been seen near him.

There was something else from his childhood, he could almost swear that it had been something he had played with, a wooden object he couldn't discern at the moment. But he was sure that it had been a toy or maybe just something that could open and close with a click, like a tiny case, but he had loved to play with it ...and... he had been most fond of it... because someone had given it to him a long, long time ago... while nobody else had been around...

Someone dear to him. Her.

_Perhaps I'm just imagining... But... Maybe you've had a heart after all. _

He loved her and hated her at the same time for years. But he didn't hate her any longer.

His own heart seemed to have skipped a beat. He hasn't been ready for any of this, but he was finally ready to let her go.

Perhaps that one blurry memory was worth coming here.

Then he simply hoped that she would rest in peace.

* * *

><p>When he found himself outside alone, walking through the streets of Rouen in order to empty his mind, only then did he realize that it was the first time in days that he was all by himself. Alone. But not lonely. He had someone to return to.<p>

The one who would sit by him while he mused and who would walk by his side on those long roads. She waited for him while he sought his way. Before her, he couldn't have seen a purpose to move on after all that circling around and coming back to the place where his existence began. He'd probably wonder around aimless and miserable. Now he wanted to move forward. For her. With her. Moving was good.

He sped up as he was coming back from a long walk which encircled one of the longest days of his life.

Entering the room, taking his shirt and shoes off, pale and tired he sat on the chair, gulping water as if he just came out of the desert. The sunlight was still too strong, he moved down to the floor, sitting in the shadows, looking up at her.

The way the light beamed through the leaves of that tree outside their window and through the curtains, bathing her skin, her hair... _Let it down, yes, set it free... _Highlights, shadows, colours, tones... _Notes_... He could almost see a way to capture light. The same light that hurt his eyes, making him feel a bit dizzy and he sought to find shelter within her shadow.

Tones, notes... His palm ran up and down his thigh expectantly, fingers wanting to do something they remembered very well, the other purpose of their existence, somewhat different than carving wood and caressing a woman's body. On their own, the fingers played on his knee, imagining the keys and creating a light gentle composition in his head.

He felt the music coming back to him.

Watching her move over, bending down as she reached into her valise, he noticed the strap slipping down her shoulder, unintentionally revealing a little more of her skin. She held something in her hand, offering it to him. _An apple. Again?  
><em>Too tired to make any other remark, he caught a glimpse of a part of her breast and relished the sight for a brief moment before she pulled the strap back. The apple, a red haired woman, soft bare skin... Rosseti's_ Venus Verticordia _came to his mind, an apple was in her hand but the arrow seemed to be inside his head. He had been reading too much and living through too little of this. Remembering the first few lyrics of that poem, he followed her with a significant gaze in his eyes, reciting theatrically:

"_She hath the apple in her hand for thee,  
>Yet almost in her heart would hold it back;<br>She muses, with her eyes upon the track  
><em>_Of that which in thy spirit they can see..."_

Perhaps he might have recalled the rest but that arrow pierced through his temples once more, making his teasing smile disappear, silencing him at once.

"Are you flattering me, hardheaded man?" She sounded playful. He liked it, the way she seemed more open with him with each day.

"Indeed, I am." He shielded his eyes from the gleam reflecting on the window.

"You know, I can practically see that stubborn head of yours hurts... And still you have the energy to play with me?"

He looked at the fruit again. "Are you going to smash it against my skull now?"

"Foolish man. It is just for the scent."

"What?"

"It is calming, haven't you noticed it ever before?"

He leaned his head back, onto the edge of the bed, grasping the fruit and inhaling it's rich fragrance deeply, mumbling: "Sometimes I think you came into my life as if you were a salve for my wounds..."

"Actually, you walked into mine. Uninvited." She emphasized that last part with an undertone that said «how dare you», and even through his eyes closed, he knew that up there her lips have stretched into a smile.

He stayed on the floor like an obedient pet, leaning backwards onto the edge of the bed where she came to ensconce, his hindhead pressing somewhere into her knees. His eyelids went shut as he felt the gentle pressure of her fingers rubbing into his temples, massaging him with small circular movements. _This is good, this is really good..._

"Don't stop..." If men could be bought with affection, then he was the cheapest whore at the moment, enjoying this new pleasure, her touch artfully pressing out that digging arrow of pain. "I will sell my soul to you if you want it, just don't stop..."

"I will remember that promise, you can be sure."

He shuffled underneath her palms as tender fingers ran gently over his face and through his hair. At some point he heard her whisper to herself something like: "...most definitely a cat..." But when he asked her about it with an inarticulate "Huh?", he didn't get an answer in words, just more of those slender fingers on his skin.

Slowly he fell into a drowse.

Some time later he awoke, more than ready to dive into the bathtub, she's already had it prepared earlier on and he tried to calculate for how much time has he actually slept. Then he wondered if the servant girl might have noticed him, or better: a human-shaped form dozing off while sitting on the floor. Not that they haven't been looking at him strangely even before.

The water has cooled down by now but it was still pleasantly warm. Immersed, he observed his darling as she brought in the clean robes.

"Do you need anything?"

He had that wicked grin. "Mhm." His fingers crept up the laces on her back as she passed by him. She stopped. He tugged one end, only teasing her.

She could stand there or walk away and have it all gone loose, but she chose another way. Sitting on the edge of the tub, she waited. It was hard not to blush or smile back when he looked at her _like that_.

He wasn't demanding, he was inviting her. He waited. For something, a little sign. And he got it. That shy smile.

A couple of times before, had she already heard Josephine or Liz say that a man needs a woman to take care of him, be it his lover, his mother or sister, or a friend. For the past days she has, in some ways, been through all of this roles. Tonight it felt like he needed his lover back. _Is this what lovers do?_

Tugging a little more, just to encourage her, he whispered: "Come..."

She didn't expect that at all. "You are tampering me..." And yet, she would do it for him. Never being the one to initiate it, still adjusting to pleasures of love, she let him guide her.

She allowed him to unlace her, baring her back bit by bit with his wet hands. It was only fair after all, he had helped her to fasten them up this morning. Drops of water fell from his fingers and ran down her skin in tiny streams. She had always liked water.

Delighted by the way he touched her, she was welcoming the courage that was growing within her. She hadn't shared a bath with anyone since she had been a little more than a toddler and her sister just a few years older. Even then, as both of them grew older, did she notice the seed of embarrassement thriving as the childlish ignorance gradually dissolved.

With him, it was different.

Each time it has been different.

The rest of her clothing slowly slipped lower with every little motion.  
>He was <em>watching<em> her.  
>This time under the warm lights, his hungry eyes were feasting on the sight of her skin, his yearning hands held at bay on the edge of the bathtub. He had <em>seen<em> her before. It was still different. Arousing. She felt him move behind her and brush her hair aside only to kiss the nape of her neck and hoarsely ask her once more:

"Come to me..."

For him, she would comply. With her back turned to him, she stood up. The linen fell off her hips and he gulped hard at the sight of her buttocks and then of her thighs parting as she moved to step inside. Taking in a long breath, he couldn't help but admire the sight. And when she finally turned facing him, he clutched the edge tighter, tormenting himself by delaying a touch he was aching for.

There was just enough room for both. The water level threatened to spill out and all over the floor with every unthinking movement. Their skin brushed under the surface and it felt like her pores were opening out to soak him in.

They just sat like that at first, not saying much, there was no need. She could tell that he's taking his time. Moving through the fluid that seemed to come to life with their motion, he pulled her into his arms and they snuggled up as though all they really needed was a little tenderness.

She kissed the side of his head, the ravaged part. "What is on your mind?"

It seemed like he has been absent but his thoughts were there all the while. She knew that twitch in the corner of his mouth.

"A lotus."

"What?" Her giggling rang between the walls of the bathroom so she hushed down against his shoulder. "How did that come to your mind?"

"From a book."

She could discern that he was only half serious while playing wise.

"A good one?"

"Oh... Yes. Yes, it was a good one." His chuckle shook her as her body lay molded to his. "Just a tiny bit controversial."

"Something I might like?"

"God, I _hope_ so..." The way he said it, chuckling, only made her more sure that there was something naughty on his mind. What she had always believed to be serious matters of marital bed, he managed to turn into something else. And she liked it.

His fingers went up and down her spine, almost making her rear by an impulse when they travelled dangerously low.

It really was different in the water. Caressing and kissing him in return, she finally felt free. Cleansed. Natural. The position of his thigh between her own legs felt as though they were forming a chain. Like wanting to lock, or better, to anchor to each other.

She felt the gentle fondling of his hand on her bottom and became aware of him growing firm against her lap as by mere chance she grazed that lustful beast of his. It was aiming upwards to her hand that rested on his abdomen. It was challenging her to gather courage and put the shame and restraint aside.

It was daring her with the tantalizing uncertainty. In a slow movement, her hand came lower, encouraged by the change in his breath. There, right under his navel was the peak of the hair marking the beginning of a coarse dark path that led the tip of her fingers into a wary descent. Slowly and hesitating but without retreat.  
>She found him there, ready, waiting, expecting her for a long time. Folding her fingers carefully around his manhood, she could feel him respond with movement and a deep muffled groan escaping through his clenched teeth. She dared, though he was awake and aware.<p>

She could touch him at last.

In the water, she could touch him.

Though she didn't really know how, just steadily feeling him up his full length and back down. When no words came from him, she looked up, uncertain of what she might find there, what he might think of her now. His eyes blazing in an intense look, she could tell that he was trying to keep cool. Devouring her with those eyes, he stared straight into hers as he ventured down to her own sweet heat with his adept fingers.

Oh, he remembered it all very well from that last time they were in this room.

Grasping her hips, he led her leg at his side and she found herself straddling his lap, open to him now. No escape. The water swayed heavily with their shuffle and some had already spilled out with a splash. She could feel the waves moisten her skin above the level only to leave it exposed in the chilling air.

The way he _kissed_ her... She was in delight each time when he gave himself completely into it.

She let him guide her down to him. Their flesh set on fire at the brief contact, burning for more. He was letting her do it as she might like. This time he wouldn't take the lead and it was all still so new to her. The roles were different this time and she remembered what he has said to her once: "Show me..."

"You know how." The vibration of his voice against her throat as he devoted himself to kissing her neck, made her quiver. By now, he has learned well how much she likes that.

And she discovered that deep down it was true. It seemed funny even, so many times had she straddled a horse. How could she possibly not adjust to a man who was giving her _control_?

With a lift of her body, the water poured in cascades out of the soaked tresses of her hair. Wet on the outside as well as inside, she accepted him within herself tentatively, stopping for a moment only to accomodate when a shadow of that pain came to surface. She adjusted a little more, with her legs wrapping around him.  
>Her hips swayed in a settled rhythm, carefully in order of avoiding a flood all around them.<p>

It truly was something else in the water.

A whole another world with diverse rules, just like with her lover.

Water knew how to break her boundaries, to find hidden passages and steal in through the walls.

That feeling was close... Her pursuit for pleasure grew, sensation rising higher and higher until she reached a plateau. Her body grew calm feeling some new level of satisfaction. It also demanded something more of her, as though she could reach much higher and make it complete, but she saw no way how to venture there at the given moment. She liked where she was. There was no point in grasping the fruit that seemed not to have matured yet. And it didn't matter then. She was lost in him, dedicated to his need and ache, studying him like a map that suddenly began revealing unknown places.

She felt him come to an end burying his face into her neck and letting out a cry that came out more like a hiss.

All it took was a few seconds of becoming lost in her, and all of the remaining self control dissipated... It just escaped him. Then he felt like apologizing but he couldn't speak. It took him a while to put himself together, as well as a few sane words. "I wanted to give you something more. There could be so much more for you..."

All he knew were arms that wrapped around him protectively, keeping his head in place, letting him rest as they still rocked together gently. Her soft arms of acceptance in which he could hide even from himself - the most persistent persecutor of all, the one from which he could not escape.

Tonight she gave, putting her own chase for pleasure aside, offering a heart, body, comfort... An embrace that longed to show what she guards inside. Something more for him as well. Something beautiful.

"Shhh... Everything's all right. It's fine."

"Isabelle..." He needed to let it out. It simply demanded to be let known, building up within. "...I need you too."

A kiss came to his forehead. She already knew.


	23. Chapter 23

**A private chamber**

If it weren't for that blasted piano... If he could have just kept his mouth shut when he heard that ignorant player miss the same tune over and over again! He couldn't help it.  
>A grumpy remark - one too many, as he was passing by, and the master of the house snapped, smacked the newspaper on the table and retorted right back: "Then tune it yourself if you think you can do better!"<br>The aversion between the two was mutual.

The owner didn't like the big scarred man, the cool arrogance of that sort he'd seen in men of high class, generals of war, or artists of great fame, who would walk around as though their given defect or peculiarity gave them the right to make themselves detached - if not even a higher sort - from the rest. The kind of people who avoided any redundant communication.  
>Then again, he was paying fairly and there was no spoken word of complaint about him and his lady companion. There would be an occasional look, of course, mostly between people and not directly to the man, often coming from a woman who thought of herself better than of the rest of the clientele, a muffled comment behind a fan, a poke of an elbow between men here and there...<br>The man's lady was lovely and kind, though, and he couldn't imagine how the two could have come together. He blamed it on the fact that good girls end up with bounders. Nothing new about that.  
>Married? So they've said but who could know for certain? He'd seen enough in his lifetime. They kept for themselves most of the time, like newlyweds, other people didn't interest them all that much, as if their intention was to dwell in public as little as possible.<br>Lovers more likely, who could tell, the youth never seemed to pay less heed to the terms of modesty than these days. Such things became more obvious to him as the fancy of the inn faded over the years, but he managed to keep it a respectable place. Nothing directly out of line. But he still didn't like that arrogant man too much.

Erik wouldn't be Erik...  
>With a wide glare he looked around. The hall was more or less empty. Perfect, he could end this his way and get away with it. It was like a child's game. A game he hadn't played in a long time.<br>Old habits die hard, old joy even harder. It didn't take him much to take off the jacket, spitefully without a word, as the player stepped aside and the owner stared suspiciously. Rolling up the sleeves, he approached the instrument carefully like an old friend who has changed over the long years without contact, laid a hand on that familiar frame with respect, opened it up and took a look into the soul hidden behind the lid.  
>Soon he got lost in the mess of keys and strings, following their familiar ways as if he had embedded them in there himself.<br>It took him a while to set everything right. Truth to be told, he didn't want to stop toying with the instrument too soon. He would audit every detail, adjust the tune, test the sound of it.  
>The resonance stirred the hidden musician within him and he gradually relaxed while working on it. It occupied him to the point that he stopped caring who is near.<p>

One thing he couldn't do. He still couldn't bring himself to _play_. Technically, he could, anytime. It would sound good, that was an overweening fact. The trouble was that music, his own at least, brought along too much emotion.  
>To play music truly... It seemed so close, but just out of reach.<p>

As he finished the tuning, his fingers passed over the clavier and brought out a brand new melody. It was just a particle of that something which dwelt in his mind for the past weeks, but it lasted long enough to come to life. And once alive... It could only grow.

"I don't think I know that one." The owner shook him out of his mood. It was the first time that he saw this strange man smiling, even as faintly, to anything except for his lady friend, and now - music.

"You couldn't possibly." Erik turned back into his old serious self, an arrogant undertone wavered within.

"You play?" The master of the house was curious, taking out two glasses and pulling out two chairs.

Erik didn't know the right answer any more.

Meanwhile, she had lunch with the attorney in a nearby restaurant.  
>They wouldn't risk, and Erik didn't want to put her into a compromising situation. A lady does not introduce a paramour as such to the friend of the family. A good lover should know when to disappear without being told to.<br>And if there was one thing he wanted lately, by all means, it was to be a _good lover_.

A proper woman does not just disappear, contact with the family was required, and it made him wish that he had claimed her in front of them all and made it clear, or just taken her further away from everything. Perhaps the latter would have been easier. What she needed was to tell them that she was fine and safe, what they didn't really need was an attorney boy popping out of nowhere, after an exchange of letters with her aunt. Some issues about the ownership of the estate again. He has been just across the street a while ago, close enough to see how that little insolent youth kissed her hand.  
>To Hell with etiquette and the fact that it is more of a symbolic gesture than an actual kiss... Erik was jealous.<p>

Not that he didn't trust her. Compelled to remain a charming protective figure in her life, the last thing he needed was another brave and dashing lad to decry him before her own family. One look at his face, and the illusion would shatter. So he held at bay, worried that sooner or later he'd have to face them all, wanting to have a _tête-à-tête _with the little dandy nevertheless.

* * *

><p>If only someone had taught him how to function in this world... <em>normally<em>. Being the one on the outer side of their doors, windows, walls and fences, the isolation had taken it's toll. He has been an attentive observer, but lacking when it came to interacting. Hell, even now it would be easier if only there was a set of rules to follow. Well, maybe there was. But it was those unwritten ones which troubled him.  
>What do you do when there is an obstacle you can't even define?<p>

He never hesitated with honesty, no deception needed. But this time it was weird.

He couldn't approach her. For some odd reason, there was something in between them.

He noticed how she pulled away. They were about to kiss - a little ritual, just like every time when one of them would come back «home», to their room. They were too close to cover up the obvious. Something was in the air.  
>It was the second time that she pulled away. "What is it?"<p>

She just shook her head, unable to say «nothing». It would be a lie. Unacceptable to those who vowed to honesty.  
>She couldn't. She could almost sense <em>it<em>.

All that he could perceive at first was a _«no»_, unspoken but still present. The meaning and circumstances had never mattered before, with other people, it had usually been clear rejection. Never having cared about boundaries, he would either break or test them. With Isabelle he tried his best not to force but to feel them, almost tangible they seemed at times.

He watched her as she turned around quietly and fixed the curtain like nothing was wrong at all. It was neat, it obviously needed no fixing, it frustrated him. As if focusing on some other irrelevant thing had ever helped!  
>She hesitated and waited until she couldn't take her own silence any longer. "You drank something... with the owner, haven't you?"<p>

He was speechless in realization that this is something so common, trivial, ordinary... A woman scolding her man after a couple of drinks. How many were in the same situation on that very same evening? How many times had he wished for an ordinary life? He'd probably make a laugh of it, if it weren't for that something that kept her quiet and so uncomfortably serious.  
>No, it wasn't reproaching, it was that cold sadness again.<p>

"Some hard drink. Bitter. I can tell."

"He brought out some old stuff when I checked that piano."

She said nothing. He didn't like it. "Does it bother you? You never seemed to mind before." He wasn't even drunk.

"It is different."

"Why?"

She'd rather not say it. She wasn't even angry at him. The anguish wiggled in her stomach. It seemed unfair that a slight disturbance can still kick her out of the path she learned to walk on. How could he possibly have known?

"It's what _he_ had drank." She tried to control the dither but couldn't hide it.

"I am _not_ him!" After weeks of being a lover, he refused to be connected to a scoundrel like that one.

An irritated Erik was not a nice sight, it wasn't comfortable to see him that way.

"Don't you think I know that?!" Such a useless thing, trying to rationalize, when she was on the verge. Neither of them was to blame, both felt some guilt.

And still, she couldn't stand it. It hit him like a bullet that was not meant for him. It went straight into his guts, after all the effort he has put into being the better man. "So I repel you?!"

"It's not you."

"Then _he_ is stronger?!" The ingrown habit of feeling rejected overpowered him. He noticed how roughly she rubbed her skin, that part which normally drove him insane in a different meaning, from her neck to the collarbone. She didn't seem to be aware of it. Seeing her do that before, he has learned quite well what it means. He didn't want to be in _that_ role.

How she hated this... "No. _It_ is sometimes stronger than _me_!"

It was waiting somewhere, hidden deeply, building up from the beginning. How naive of her, dare to believe that it would never come to this point, that there would be good things instead, if only she believed strongly.  
>"I told you... He would haunt me still!"<p>

There. He didn't know the right thing to say. That morning, after their first night together, she had said those exact words. Maybe he'd rather interpret them more literally, but in the end, he knew what she had meant to say.

For all he knew, he couldn't help her, he couldn't even help himself. Elbows on knees, he sank on the sofa as she moved to the bathroom, away from the tension. More than just door stood in between. The fact that something about him was the trigger banned him from going after her. The look in her eyes where he could literally see the urge to escape pushed him over the edge and the fall was long.

Unready to talk it through, she had to get rid of the confines. She couldn't stand the ties and laces on that darn corset, she needed them off.  
>She inhaled deeply, leaning on the washstand, trying to calm the rhythm of her respiration. A girl in the mirror she could recognize, herself, the eyes gave away the one which couldn't breathe under all that pressure, the one much younger. It was Isabelle, the runaway.<p>

As she came back, more herself this time, not even a tell-tale sound was there, he has vanished like a ghost.

* * *

><p>It was all he could come up with. Hell, if he has caused that in her, though unintentionally, how could he stay, really, in the same room as long as there was that look in her eyes? It was a room, not a prison cell. <em>Never a cell.<em>

All he knew was that he needed to cool down.

There was no other way. Maybe, in some other times, in that other world, with someone else - how he hated to admit it - maybe he wouldn't have cared, repelling as he always had been. And mad, so thoroughly _mad_. Perhaps this was another of those reminders which would pop out every now and then. Just to make sure that nothing is forgotten.

He walked. Deep into the night, uncertain of where he was going. Nowhere. He passed the streets and the occasional individuals, pairs, little groups of men and women whom the night had lured out. Some were in a hurry, just passing by, some drunken and merry or otherwise.

Someone was playing a violin behind a corner. A light melody, improvising. Straight from the head, so _easily_. It was good. He sat on the bench nearby and listened, his forehead pressed against the fist as if that could make some order inside that head. A coin would flip into the hat in front of the player's feet, someone would stay for a few minutes and then move onward.  
>No one bothered to interrupt his moment of peace and sit by. Well, that was no wonder. The player noticed him and passed on to something sad, probably thinking that it would suit his mood. The lonesome man on the bench realized whom the melody was for. Some pandemonium of Devil's music would be more appropriate, not this! If nothing, it was soothing. Not many things had such effect on him.<br>He stayed for a long time, until the player himself had to decide that he's had enough for the night. People hid behind the doors of their homes or public houses and night was getting colder.  
>It was long past the Devil's hour.<br>Erik counted a decent sum of coins and left them to his companion. He should have taken more money before he had left Paris, he remembered. Who could have thought, back then in all that rush, that the story would turn this way.

A question was addressed to him as he pulled straight again and lowered his hat.

"A woman, ain't it?"

"Is it so obvious?"

"It's always about a woman. You're guilty of something?"

The one in a wide brimmed hat was not used to this kind of street chat, but the player seemed to know the usual trouble of men.

"I'm not even sure."

"And who is? They can do that to a man."

He chuckled ironically. He had heard that one before.

* * *

><p>Though he managed to empty his mind, the awkward feeling still lingered within. Quietly he crept back upstairs and into the room. He didn't need lights, keeping in the dark, wishing that the night would end. But he had no clue how they'd cope with it tomorrow. What if it can never be the same between them? Why now?<br>He could see her. So perfectly still, curled up on the center of the bed, an arm wrapped around the covers, her face on his pillow.

Silence fell heavier and thicker than murk.

He has left without a word, it was upsetting. But what else could they say, then?

She heard him now, his silence. How could she not?

She couldn't sleep while he was gone. Waiting for hours. In her dither, she hated the true malfeasant, the one who had done that vile thing to her. So she cried. Her soul could wail but her body clenched in a spasm, squeezing the bad emotion out through a breathless whimper. All the anguish and tension drained her out. Now, she was tired. No rest came.  
>Thinking, remembering, analyzing, rationalizing some more...<br>Waiting for her lover to come back.  
><em>Missing<em> _him_.  
>Staring at the door as though that would make him come back sooner, and suddenly it couldn't be soon enough. Why did he leave? She was ashamed of her reaction before him, even when there was no blame. Because she couldn't possibly get any closer to him with that demon in between! A demon whom only she could see at first and then he became more tangible and her lover became aware of it as well.<p>

Still as an oily glint of the sea calm, she has closed her eyes after a while, but couldn't sleep, focused on listening. Every faint sound.

Steps in the couloir. His steps, those strides, she recognized them every time.  
>The click of a key in the lock, slight creaking of the door, the way his steps turned muffled on the carpet, his approaching, the stillnes as he stood in front of the bed for a few moments, his breathing. He wasn't coming any closer, just watching. Inhale, exhale, the rustle of his clothes, slip of his shoes... Moving away. The sound of the cushions pressing into furniture slats as he placed himself on the sofa with a weary sigh.<p>

The latter echoed in her head.

She waited another moment. He wasn't going to come back into their bed tonight. It hurt somewhere inside.

Slowly, wordless, she made a move.

Weary and calm, she stepped off the bed and came to his side, watching him just as he has watched her a few minutes ago. He was far to large to stretch comfortably there, one of his knees bent, the other leg touching the floor, it was an obvious fact, not an excuse. Were it an excuse, that itself would be enough, just to bring him back.  
>Her hand came to his cheek softly. In the darkness he was looking right back, she could see that much. Still, no words were said.<br>The smell aired out, the emotion cooled down, the bitter trace still remained – this time figuratively.  
>That wormwood of bitterness which she has always feared would eat her alive, she wanted it all carved out!<p>

Then she reached and held his hand, waiting until he read the gesture, grasped firmly to lead him. He followed her for that short distance, but it seemed much further. They've come a long way, after all. A lot more appeased now, she wanted him close, releasing his large hand only when he sat on their bed. _This is where you belong._

Was that his shirt she was wearing? _Strange girl._ How odd to see that now. Her bare legs slid under the covers. She moved closer to his side of the bed. Words were hovering above them but they'd slide away each time a mouth dared to open, they didn't rush into being spoken. So much she wanted to tell him. And so much of what she didn't, really, but she would speak if he asked it of her right now.

"Don't walk away on me, Erik." _Never leave me like that again._

"You didn't want me near. I'm not your jailor." His deep, low voice was serious, so convincing, even when almost a whisper.

Was it something primal, she mused, to make as little sound possible in the middle of the night? It was the same thing she did. Even when safe in the room, the darkness brought along her old instinctive friends, the vulnerability and the vigilance. But honesty was also easier in the darkness.

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't. Have I ever forced you into anything of the kind? I'm _not_..."

How often did he think of this, how strongly he wanted it to be true: "I will _not_ be a monster in this story."

"You are not. The place had been taken a long time ago." There was no right term she could come up with, but she was ready to delineate. "It is... something that happens, I don't want it to emerge, but I can't help it."

"How often?"

"What do you mean?"

"How often does it happen? How many times have you kept quiet when you didn't want... _contact_?"

Hell, so many years he had spent in his domain, sharing his little world with all those prattling and demanding women living atop his head, that had made him seek escape in the murk and silence down below... And here he was, with the one complete contrast to them all, who desperately needed to learn how to raise her voice. The way he stared at the ceiling, his tortured mind seemed to form a whole cloud of similar questions up there.

Was that mistrust she was hearing? "Don't do this, don't doubt _us_..."

"I can't function like this. You are the sane one, the calm one, full of hope. I don't quite know the right moves here. Rules, guidelines, give me anything! If we're building something on an unknown ground, if one pillar sways, the other one feels it too."

"The other one keeps it from falling." So simple the truth seemed, so logical.

"I can't read your mind, Isabelle. For all I try, I can't. And you never speak of those things."

"Have you never thought how perhaps that is a good thing? There is nothing nice I could tell you on that matter..." Oh, but she could tell how he wanted to know.  
>"There is this feeling... that comes out... like a shadow."<br>She tried to find the easiest way to explain it. "Imagine a room. No matter how hard you try to keep it clean, there is always some vermin, a spider which manages to hide, only to crawl out when you least expect it. You know that it can't hurt you, but it is such an appaling sensation which lingers on your skin even if nothing had touched you at the given moment..."

Silently, he was processing what he heard. It made sense.

"It could have been anything, when I think of it." As she spoke, she realized how slippery the ground had been along their way. "A sound or a sight instead of the smell. Horses, hay, wood, any given thing that could be connected to that night. It wasn't even the wine, how many times have we had it, remember? But this time it was specific."  
>Other people don't talk of these things openly, she was pretty sure. Not just that they have no need for bringing out such a heavy subject. Intimacy in general, do they ever talk of it, normally?<br>But that fact, normal - such a relative term, wasn't enough to hinder her any more. "That night... he had been drunk, something hard, bitter, I could smell it. I couldn't name it. Now I can." At least it wasn't in vain, she concluded.

"Unconsciously, I run from that..." A confession, even such an innocent one, was still something to be formed warily around this man: "But a part of me pulled away knowingly."

The dark outlines of his chest rose and fell in one deep, prolongued, almost desperate breath.  
>With this man, one could never really know what remained unspoken.<p>

"Erik... A kiss was something _pure_ for me. The _true_ one, between a man and a woman, it was only yours." Something in the air changed and he leaned closer, his finger following the line of her lips.  
>"I didn't want to find the traces of that poison on your lips."<p>

_Something pure... _Even when he could not give anything pure in return... If he was giving up a moment ago, he was - why not admit it - honoured. Damn it, how she knew the way to push him out of balance, kick him into a dire fall - and then unexpectedly have him land somewhere safe and soft just like the cushions that held her warmth; all that with only a few words.  
>"You never told me that."<p>

"How could I tell you without the shadow that hovers above it all?"

"You barely ever speak of it. All you let me know were facts, all roughly, you shared some of your pain. But you've never said a single word more than what you think I should know."

"The only time I've talked about it openly was with Josephine. But to a man..." It seemed unimaginable.  
>"<em>No<em> man would truly want to hear it. That day by the riverside, I have confessed, yes, it was a moment, and you already knew... It is different now. Why now when I thought to have learned to leave it behind?" _My God, it never ends, all I can do is live and love inspite of it._

"Your eyes give it away, your voice, your motion, your body..." His fingers drifted to her neck, to that place... Her head went to the shoulder instinctively; protectively or not, he couldn't distinguish. As if tonight they've made a few steps backwards and will have to start all over again. _Don't pull away from me now._ "They tell me a story which you won't speak of."

A neck, what a weak spot. So vulnerable and yet strong enough to carry the head full of troubled thoughts. Alive with breath and blood and muscles, and skin so sensitive... So full of life. And a life he was ready to give for her. If the past ever caught him, he had no doubt that his neck would pay, be it the guillotine or the noose on the scaffold.

She was leaning against his hand now, such a contrast, the very same spot and what an opposite reaction. _So you know... Words or no words_.

"What do you want to hear?"

"All you let me." Perhaps she'd think it outrageous that he wanted to hear it, but how else could he know the line?

If so, they could never go back. She shut her eyes firmly. What a misconception, that thing about time and getting used to things! Getting _over_... When is it over?  
>"I felt something sinister about him that night, something ominous. He caught me alone. I tried to find my way out. There was none. At once he was behind my back. That dread is something that can't be forgotten. I fought so hard... I couldn't stand his breath... on my skin, right here."<p>

A bolt of rage rampaged throughout his body. How bestial it must have been, he could not imagine. Not that he compared two circles of hell, but one thing he could understand - far more odious than all the beatings in his life was being _spat at_. What an obnoxious thing, to be marked in such a low way. The body fluid can be wiped off but the feeling, the smell, the humiliation sticks on. It had seared through his skin so deeply that he would rather have taken another dozen of lashes with that dirty whip instead. The last time they had humiliated him in such way was the very first time that he had murdered.  
>Now, he wished to have gone through that one last kill, after all. "You should have let me kill him."<p>

She felt him stiffen up. Back then he wouldn't hesitate, and the truth is that she didn't want to find out whether she could stop him now either. "You promised me something. Don't forget it." And she waited until the tension gave way to some peculiar tranquility. "Don't ask if you are not ready to hear."

Lover's arms wrapped around her, hands that wouldn't leave her, and how they loved to explore. They asked about things which lips wouldn't question about. One ran gently under the shirt, stealing in between the buttons. On her breast it made another stop, tracing in small circles that tiny drop-shaped mark frozen in time.

"And here?"

"It had always been here, only smaller, I think. But that night it... _bled_. His cufflink... I think it was a cufflink. It was sharp, and... all I know is that it burned... when he grabbed me and... threw me... I couldn't breathe under his weight, he was on my back... I thought I'd die then... And I just didn't want to feel any more."  
>Stopping there, she swallowed her tears, incredible how people try to hide them until they push their own way out, and even then, they pretend that it hurts less that it does. A soft buss came onto her shoulder.<p>

"One tiny thing and so much that it opens."

"Now you can't get it out of your mind either! See what it means?! Every time I look at it..."

"It is barely noticeable."

"But it is still there. And it has made you wonder, don't deny it!"

"It has, quite enough." His head pressed somewhere between her shoulderblades. "More than just that."

His fingers drew lines on her arm, up and down, over the linen, and the skin exposed under the rolled sleeve. She knew where he was going. Unsure, he crept there, having learned how to approach to her gradually, it was the best thing he could come up with. Once she had told him that he was wrong, whatever he was thinking of it. The little Amazon was quite likely to do something unimaginable. "You have said that this was another story. Why hide it?"

"I don't know. It is solely mine... I've explained it to myself as something that has been imprinted on me because I never spoke up about... rape."  
>It was still hard to say that word. All that was enveloped by it couldn't possibly be brought down to one sole word so rough and unfitting. "Like my body and my soul screamed out what my voice wouldn't say."<p>

Within moments, something about her changed. It was a story, indeed.  
>"At St. Ursule's I didn't have to explain. One of the first things I had learned was that my story means little in there, something that people don't mention. I confined myself to silence, never speaking of it. One day to another, the time drifted off as I got used to routine, habitude gave me a strange sense of certitude and freedom. Never mind that I knew how I could get out by my own will once when old enough, or that I could simply write to someone of my family. At the critical moment it would mean nothing. It was night, one of those sleepless. Nighttime was always different. Nothing could help me when it would all come back to me. I was feverish, growing sickly. In that haze I realized how the world is left outside, and that<em> I<em> had _locked myself_ in because I blamed and angered at everyone."  
>"And the worst: <em>What if<em> some other had fallen prey to that man because I had never spoken up? I should have pointed at him, I should have ran away... Anything! Suddenly there opened various ways of what I could have done. More I'd thought of it, the more I realized my mistake."

"Don't torment yourself with that." Hell, if everyone thought that way, starting with himself, the world would be a very different place.

She took a pause, coming back to the main theme. "It was raining that night and it seemed to be sent from above only to rinse... That was what I wanted to feel like. Purified. It is all I remember until some time later when sisters found me in the atrium, febrile, soaking wet and stained with blood. I think I've sliced my skin when I pushed my hand through the lattice on the door. It had been hollow, burrowed enough for a sickly girl to break it. Everything breaks at the weakest point. They said I'd struggled, raving. Of things I kept hidden."  
>"Later, all I wanted was to leave and <em>live<em> again. And I did, but some things I couldn't shake off. My God, what if he had done that to some other girl?! Don't tell me that such a responsibility should never be inflicted on a girl, I know that well. But still, each time I look back, there will always be unnamed insecurity. And there will always be something inside of me, that keeps guard and has a mind of it's own. Things that just overpower me and make me react even if I fight it. Have you ever felt anything like that?"

_"Something that keeps guard..."_ She couldn't have guessed it better. Contemplating for some time, at first it seemed like there would be no answer coming out from his mouth. It was a rhetorical question, after all, he didn't need to reply. And yet... In the beginning there seemed to be no obvious connection in his words. But he'd always relate to things differently, finding links significant to him.

Things they've never said_. Quid pro quo. _It was only fair_. _"Yes." Rolling back on his side, he stated it was true. She has forefelt it before, and he knew how she has noticed. Better that she knows why.

"I wake up at times... For no apparent reason..."

She realized how at times she'd find him tense and distant, sometimes his rustle in the night would wake her up too, or he'd need a minute in the morning when he'd first open his eyes. And then she'd wonder whether it was his troubled mind or heart.

"Alert. Vigilant." They were only lucky that it had been carved into him to not make a move before he estimated the possible «threat».  
>"More or less, ready to fight or run. An old habit. I'm afraid that I might hurt you because of it." A wont which had been developed for a reason, finding someone near him usually meant nothing good. He'd be quite ready to strike and strangle.<p>

"It has nothing to do with you. I'm not used to having someone sleeping by my side."

Instincts, the habit of sleeping alone, keeping defensive, that wasn't too strange. But so many nights spent alone, a man without... company. Many times not even those who vowed to a lifetime without a woman could stand it. She had never questioned him about other ways, affairs, pleasures for sale – no matter how unmentionable, it was reality.  
>He had mentioned once how degrading it was for him to admit briefly knowing a woman's body, and having been robbed of it, for an insidious purpose. Even more cruel than never knowing at all, as he has said it then. Long time ago, a woman had shown him the cold perfidy of such sort. As he stated, a touch of flesh alone meant so little without heart in it. No joy in that. For a reason that no man with a grain of pride would ever admit, he wanted that incident to remain in blur.<p>

Something _had_ happened, she concluded then. A female touch indelibly significant to him, but of no great importance to her, because a dozen affairs would mean less than one heartbreak.  
>Love unrequited, unfulfilled, now that was a tough rival.<br>The inexhaustible source of inspiration for every sort of art. Stories of «what could have been» seemed to have a strong hold on people for centuries. She only wondered whether it had the ability to overpower the story of «what is yet to be». He once spoke of never having _loved_ before he had fallen in love with that «student-protégé». Once or twice she has asked whether he had harmed the girl, but... Now she knew how similar things can be very different.

"But in all your life..." No confirmation ever came from him. But his absent look - there might be the answer. She asked quietly: "Not even _her_?"

"Christine?"

"So she does have a name."

And it made her _real_. Palpable, existing, present. She had no name until now, how odd, for she has had a story. A decent share of it Isabelle already knew, at times he'd mention things but never for too long or too detailed. Never naming her. Such an innocent name, it suited the way he described her, blameless.  
>And could anyone in that story come out as such? <em>Christine. The student, the songbird, the lost love. So we meet. <em>

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does. If it didn't, you wouldn't hesitate to say it out." That was also her first formal introducement to the feeling of jealousy. It poked her like a spear. A rival whom she couldn't compete directly and in person, was to be dealt with very carefully.

And he still wouldn't speak of her with ease, in fact, he said nothing.

What he's learned best was to bring them closer physically when some dissonance emerged, and gradually they'd harmonize again. Corporeal beings and their lively moody spirits had their ways and played their variations but they would always come back to a theme – and there was his music. His arm went back to her from behind her back and froze in one sole second when everything stopped, as she said it out:

"I want a private chamber."

In a wary retreat, he was speechless, more shocked than disencouraged, not even close to understanding, he pulled away completely. Another lifetime wouldn't suffice to finally understand womankind. And now - this! Another step back.

She hated when there was no response. How quickly he could close in and leave the world outside, stubborn head! He wasn't the easiest map to read. Neither did he take things like others would, nor did she know how to say this.

"In here." Her hand went to his chest. There, a response, a wince!  
>"She is in here too. I can live with that. But I want a private chamber in your heart."<p>

For she could tell when he thought of her little rival. When she'd catch him pensive and doleful. Fair enough, they both had their moods. And she was the one who had him for herself. But it pinched at times, having to share his heart.

"Keep doing this and it will stop beating, woman."

"Then I want a claim on your soul."

"It sinned gravely, what use would it be? How undemanding of you, anything else you want?" Jesting a bit, half-serious, he was ready to sign that contract. The Devil wasn't expecting this, he was certain, it would be terribly amusing to see the outcome of such battle.

If she had to share his heart, then she'd have some right to that soul, no matter the taint. She'd fight for him. _Anything else? A private chamber, that's all. And maybe one more little thing._  
>"You cannot keep both her shackle and my chain in the same satchel or they'll pound and clatter."<p>

Oh, the irony... It pricked him and suddenly he overturned her, huffish, hovering above, and pinned her wrists into the pillow. Exactly what he shouldn't do. As if he wanted to provoke a reaction from her.  
><em>Alluding<em> _to Christine's ring and your medallion, are we?! "_How do you know?"  
>The inner pocket in that sack, has she found it? No, he'd notice. He must have been incautious... More than once.<p>

Still above her, he looked threatening, in power to do anything he pleased. That startled her timid side at first. Wrists restrained, banned from a touch, the very thing which would be her secure way when the push comes to shove. By the feel of his skin, his scars, she could always tell that it's him. And now he took that from her.  
>"You never bothered to hide it." Subdued, she took it steady and with dignity.<p>

Just as he could give her control, he could grow a bit reckless. So many layers of him, but her senses already knew the one which would pour over her in all his wild desire from time to time, when he'd grow rapacious and salacious and then she'd just let go and get to know him a little deeper.

Contriving something, he beheld her intensely. "We'll smother each other this way."

"No, it is the silence that is suffocating. We have to open up and let it out every now and then."

Even now he couldn't believe how she could have such a calming effect on him.

"You dare?" That teasing hoarse whisper, so close to her lips, to her ear, she could feel him but his mouth had not touched hers as if in revenge for that denied kiss. "You dare to open up?"

"You say you want to share... but you are still more familiar with possessing." She wasn't reluctant with the truth, knowing that he was a piece of work, but the way he'd show things... _You speak through your body just as well... _

His tongue on her collarbone, his breath on the moist trace, he was deliberately nudging her to the edge. He wouldn't share her, not with that man, nor some attorney boy. Even the memories he'd dare to challenge, trying just how far this could go.  
><em>Who is the stronger one now? "<em>Tell me, whom do you feel?"

"You..." It was only a gasp, robbed of control, detained of feeling the texture of his skin under her fingertips. But his smell and that voice, the way his lips worked their way along her neck, she could recognize him.

He released her but her arms seemed to want to stay in place. His hands were busy undoing the buttons of her, no - _his_, most definitely his own shirt, the one he wore the day before. "Well, who would have thought... first you close in, then you dare to be so very... unprotected... underneath."  
>Suddenly, he didn't want to take it off her body, only clear himself a path to her being.<p>

"It smelled of you." Real him. That was why she needed it on her skin.

Briefly at first, then deeply, he kissed, toying with her, grazing over her mouth, then stealing his way lower and under.  
>"A droplet of enchantment..." It was his only comment when he came to her breast, stopping for a while, tracing it, whispering something about creation, mesmerizing beauty, a drop that went amiss marking something inimitable.<p>

He had a gift for stories, it seemed, but he'd tell the rest another time. Good with his words as well as those crafty hands, artful lips...

That delight in her when he gave himself completely into it! It was amazing to discover from the first day onwards how much her half-wild man was devoted to kissing. When he'd pull her close taking her in, or surprise her when unready, this man really loved to kiss.

It was all that was running through her head whilst his stealthy lips were taking her further than she has ever allowed him. Each time she had felt discomfort, he'd respect it, but there was this line he stubbornly, repeatedly tried to break, so at last she gave in.

A lick down her navel, a tickle up her leg, both heading towards the meeting spot.

Unhesitating, diligent, he craftily travelled between her thighs, unfolding her. Her first urge to lurch has long disappeared under that steady palm on her hip. Eager, he was revealing the place where a light lip could feel more intense and harsh than a firmer touch, where a pressure of his tongue could make her quiver in delight. That secret place where the borderline of initial discomfort had finally broken under the dashing pleasure, and confines of intimacy melted.

He learned persistent, thrilled by the response of her body.  
>Her lips still slightly parted in expectance of his return.<p>

But he remained where he was, his head between her thighs which freely parted a bit more on their own. She couldn't see him, but she _felt_. And how rousing she felt him there! What an exquisite way of lovemaking, with the most impudent kisses – and more than just kisses - he had ever bestowed on her, avid, licentious, gentle, _his_...  
>Her own hands running over her face, her neck, her bosom, the smell of his skin on the collar of his shirt, on the sleeves, all around her.<p>

His tongue in a teasing lick, his lips brushing and pressing! Those hands and mouth on her body, awaking her senses. She couldn't help but answer in gasp and motion to every touch, lick, stir. Waves of pleasure splashing and pulling away at the last moment, closer and further, teasing more and more, wearing out and growing stronger, again and again, until she stopped trying to reach for anything. As she let go to the waves, sinking untight and weak, they carried her upwards, to him, and they grasped, floating together with the warm currents.  
>At last, such delight!<p>

The sensation was so incredibly strong and delicate that it left her breathless.

Her blood still raced with breath as she sank deeper into the sheets, his head came to rest on her belly, his fingertips running up and down her thigh, her own fingers in his hair and over the furrows.  
>Shifting awkwardly, his other arm came back around her. Having no clue when she's lost track of it and then realizing why, she sensed that he would ask for nothing more, not a thing in return.<p>

Nothing could please him more tonight. To bring pleasure to her was such a splendid experience, that perhaps the true meaning of _having_ a woman or _knowing_ her was hidden right there.

A few steps back they've made, yes, but it was not retrogression.  
>A few steps back, only to run up, take a spring and leap over the gorge.<p> 


	24. Chapter 24

**Birds of the feather**

"The green one." Impatient, he blurted it out, forgetting that men are not to meddle in the choice of a woman's dress. An inquiring look came in return, though she never liked to be all buttoned up either, she thought that the green one was too open for the broad daylight. Apparently, that was not her lover's opinion.

Never mind how she'd rather cut her own hair than wear a bonnet - such a limiting thing when you look at it, she hated those things. He found that amusing, freedom suited her best, even if it came down to hats, she'd rather be free of any at all, and no hat that couldn't pass for simple elegance came into consideration. Never mind how she knew that his own shoes need to be at least ankle-high, either that or barefoot, nothing in between existed for him - that simple. Or that she had the privilege of cutting his messy hair, there was no man out there that would be allowed to approach his head holding scissors or a blade - there must be a story behind this peculiarity, she thought. Those were all their charming little things. A dress with such cut could hardly pass as their very own little thing.

"Ah, but I thought you were a jealous man!" Now she grew playful, a bit cheeky. Perhaps it might not seem right to tease a man with a story of obsession and selfish love behind him, but there was no ill intent in it. So, he wanted to show her off? How strange, one would expect exactly the opposite.

"But I'm not dull. Nor blind. Why not let the world envy me?" The way he stood behind her, murmuring by her ear, the undamaged side of his face reflecting in the commode mirror - they looked almost normal. How easy it would be, then. He cast her a flattering devilish smile as she dressed up. "Yes, most definitely that one."

Down in the hall, finding it mostly empty at this time of day - with decent people gone for a Sunday mass and a stroll, and those less decent ones probably still in bed; now he was entering as if it were his fairly won territory, he only glanced at the young pianist, not even in that grumpy arrogant way this time. The slightly confused younger man stood up and moved to the side, as if poked by a signal from the ever-present owner of the house. The master's word was law.

Erik honestly had no clue what that was for. Maybe it was for the way his lady companion nudged him in a teasing unladylike manner, that he realized how the piano boy has freed the space for him. Now, he had been granted with odd concessions in his life, out of fear and awe, based on lies and threats. This was a different sort of acknowledgement. He had never been given rightful respect, the kind normally given to a teacher, a master of an art, a man of greater experience.

Realization that his talent has been recognized, didn't bring him ease. The fact that his face could somehow be connected to it, and these things together linked with his past - it was an unnecessary risk. Paris hadn't seemed further away for quite a while now, but damn it, he was still within the reach of it's noose, whilst he had a good reason to stay alive.

The temptation was there. They would leave soon, anyway. Maybe he could.

"Play something..." If she could have reached up to his ear without tugging him down a bit, she would have whispered the words. After all, he was always paying more attention to the whispers, wasn't he?

He took the player's place and felt the instrument, as if sweeping the invisible dust off of his old mastery. "What would you like to hear?"

"Something from the heart." She took the nearest table, ordering coffee, it would surely take some time, never having heard him play _truly_, as he had put it.

Music. It has been his way of talking, having so much to say, show, even teach. Yet barely able to open his mouth, never finding another way to reach out to humankind, always limited, clinging to the familiar way of expression.  
>He spoke undertone, it was between them. Though he knew how those two fools by the bar stand, the owner and the pianist were listening closely. Well, let them hear, he thought, maybe someone would learn a thing or two, since they're already straining their ears.<p>

"What is the use of practice if the player learns nothing?" Not that he was rude or harsh, but there was that slight undertone - a shade of arrogance so often present. For never having been one of them, he wouldn't miss to show himself as the one of a kind, in some strange way.

Perhaps he actually liked being an exception, she contemplated, not that he would ever admit it. Yes, he caught the attention. Still talking to her, about music and something much more:  
>"...It's all but violating the instrument..."<p>

Isabelle looked at the coffee cup briefly. That word - it was just a word, the context ambiguous. Yes, he was clearly alluding to _that_ as well. Taking a sip, she simply let it be. Things have changed, and she as well. One look was all it took to know that it's all right, that such things cannot reach them now, and his monologue went on.

"What is technique without feeling? Some spend their time perfecting the skill, and forget something far more important." Those fingers knew how to pick a light melody. Perhaps the hard work had made them a bit more rough, perhaps they hesitated at the beginning like when they had first touched her body. Still, they knew their art. The troubled mind gave way and the spirit took over.  
>"One must know how to <em>feel,<em> to have the gift of turning it into something sensuous - expertly, knowingly... From the heart... "

There was a glimpse, that shine in her eyes. The little monologue was both of music and lovemaking.

The melody unfolded, poured out and filled the space. This one was for her. So he played for a while, from the heart. Because it was worth the risk.

* * *

><p>Away from crowds, they'd stroll through the river valley, a botanical garden here, a mill or a fountain there, a copse further ahead - how she loved to be outside, walking, breathing. Luring him into the broad daylight. He liked lonely places, empty streets, calmer time of the day. Not the overpraised Sundays with boulevards full of people, it would be any day which pleased them, any alley that called for them, any hidden corner that opened up to them, just like the name they used, whichever suited them. Interesting enough, he never used the last name which legally belonged to him. Not his father's, not even his mother's.<br>The name written and signed in the book of guests without questioning. Almost as if they could become someone else, playing their roles. A play was arranged for others and they saved the reality for themselves.

They returned, about to climb the stairs leading to their top rooms, not exactly a shelter for starving artists, not too luxurious either. What mattered was that they were a bit secluded from the rest. The concierge was waiting with something other than the usual _bonsoir_, there was mail waiting for them, for the lady, as a matter of fact.  
>Be clever, play naive, she mused. No mail should have come here, only to the post office, they have been covering such traces. Someone must have been following. The confirmation came from the concierge: "A man has been here, asking about a certain <em>'demoiselle<em>. I told him we've got no one under that name. He insisted that he'd seen her come in the other day." And she fit into description, surely.

It was all clear. Mademoiselle or not, Isabelle was there. With a man. Under his surname. Not too difficult for a grown person to come to the conclusion. Such a cliché on the first sight, paramours in hiding, it didn't look nice.  
>One can try to hide it, she thought. You can arrange your hair, fix your clothes, make the sheets as neat as possible, hide the stains, let the fresh air into the room. They chambermaids would surely know, entering your room, your personal space, even your private belongings, acting like they can't tell. The people from the other rooms will pass by all the same, greet you or not, pretending to be ignorant. How thin these walls really are, anyway?<br>Does it show in her eyes, in the looks between her and her lover, the way she subconsciously leans into him? Can they see that her skin tingles right there on her neck, that her thighs remember so vividly how his face brushed against, how his scars feel on the smooth skin? Would they bother to take a look and see that there is a deeper story that grows beyond their conclusion?

Three envelopes lay on the tray, one from Liz, one from her mother, another one - the lightest one was to be handed directly to her, no address, no return address either, no written message in it. But the handwriting - she has seen it before, it was that man's. Opening the envelope, as if stung, her hand flinched. She turned pale.  
>A hair ribbon.<br>Something that would be worn by a young lady, a girl even. Lavender greyish and rosy embroidery, terribly familiar. She couldn't link it to an explanation, couldn't even think, like she'd been hit into the stomach, unable to collect herself. What should this mean? Her heart pounded wildly, she stood petrified. Was it a threat? That vile man! That «what if» which had finally been spoken out the other night, now choked her. Why, the first one to come to her mind wasn't even herself... If so, it would shatter her heart.

Hearing Erik ask when the mail had arrived - in her head it sounded like it came from behind a wall. He stormed out.

Her finger brushed the familiar pattern on the ribbon. She had once had one like this, had been a girl herself. Only then did she remember a photography of herself, a tintype from her mother's trinket box, right where this particular item has also been held.  
>Mind playing games, hiding the obvious in panic - you can't see the forest for the trees, Josephine would say. It would make sense, much more sense. He'd hit where it hurts, directing it towards her with something personal that he found from her early youth, right about the time when it had been interrupted. And suddenly it seemed the truth. Logical, acceptable. But what she found with it were the consequences that could be unleashed - by herself or by her lover's hands.<p>

If Erik gets him this time... That night when she stopped him, that deal imagined somewhere in her mind, and the small print which no one bothers with... He'd break it. Finding the ground still firm, all tile and cracked lines, taking a deep steady breath, she went outside.

It has been the unfortunate messenger.

She saw a young man face to her lover's very much displeased face.

It was the attorney. Erik stared at him like a threatening animal, if judging by the flames in his eyes, it couldn't end well. At least he took the decency of cornering him into the wall of another house and not their inn - she was aware how ridiculously insane the thought seems.

He pushed it out without emotion: "You followed her." That fact alone was the step which crossed the line, he didn't feel like asking questions. The boy a servant of law, and himself - such a law abiding man, indeed.

Two men silently measured each other's strength. And she should be the voice of reason here? She hated it when men were in such state, nothing sane could come out of this. He is what he is, reacts the way he does, there is no way of changing him. But perhaps his focus, the force, could be redirected from the gripping tension; therefore a touch, he always answers to a touch. An arm came behind Erik's shoulder, unforced pressure of her arm brushing against his own. Not trying to stop him, just a firm contact from her part. Having no better idea, just letting him know that there is no need for this.

How odd, she noticed, as himself, he hardly ever touched other people, while in the role of someone else - whomever he'd choose to be in the particular moment, he could make a contact, either shake hands... or become a destructive force.  
>Far from calm, her stubborn man, but turning a bit more still.<p>

There would be no use in fighting this fire with the same, a splash of water wouldn't help either. Just keep it under control until it burns out on it's own.

The lad tried to shake off his hand. "_Mademoiselle_ hasn't given me her current address." He looked at her almost disappointed. Disillusioned.

Not that she had ever taken the young man's attention seriously, hardly ever noticing it back at her sister's place. Though flattered, Isabelle has had no interest in male company, she hadn't even taken a man into consideration back then. But no matter how she preferred to distance herself, she never wanted it to happen this way.  
>Even so, she was being given a chance for a lie. Right now, a chance to deny the obvious. The boy would have courtesy enough to pretend he believes it. At that point she became uncomfortably aware that this person knew what had happened to her. As though in his eyes that could pass as an excuse for her affair. Such hypocrisy, trying to justify it!<p>

What use of pretense? Once she has grown the courage to embrace a man and let him into her life, she has made her choice. She would not deny her man in front of the eyes of the world. This was not the time to lower her eyes to the ground. Not now. She kept her head up firmly.

She stepped in: "Where did _this _come from?" The envelope and the ribbon in her hand. First things first, her heart still pounded wildly.

"It was with the mail that was to be sent to you. I offered to hand it over personally."

"Why?" For a confirmation of previous suspicion? An excuse to come here in person? Or so that he can inform her family all the better?  
>That man, though, must have been too damn close to her mother, somehow managing to insert the envelope among the rest.<p>

"Your family is asking of you to return."

"Why all of the sudden?"

"There are news regarding your mother. And also, madame is not content with certain... indiscretions she has heard of."

"Indiscretions?!" Be sure now, she heartened herself, taking the arm of her man. The truth is out so let it be clear.  
>"Then tell her there is nothing I hide."<p>

The look on the young man's face, to see herself fallen in the eyes of a lad who has obviously admired her, it affected her. Why deny it? The rest of the world would see only what they want to see. Just like this attorney boy who took a darn good look at what's hiding in the shade of Erik's hat, and couldn't come to a conclusion, as though it couldn't be that she is with this one.

"Still, madame is expecting you at home."

"It's not my home."

"Should I tell her then that you stay in the company of monsieur...?" He had no idea of the man's identity, no time to finish the question, nor time to retort when a brusque answer was directed at him.

"_«__Monsieur»_ will do." Letting the attorney boy go, the dark man's voice left no impression that he's willing to share any more than that.

Clearly agitated, pacing, it wasn't until they came back inside their rooms that something dark in his eyes started fading. Not a word about it, though.

"I know." Still upset, she admitted it. Just as well as she knew that had it been the right target, she wouldn't stop him this time. In the name of that «what if», in the name of that instinctive fear she felt for another defenseless being - twisted as it was, even if only for a second, the first one on her mind having been a girl which even her sister had called a little image of Isabelle, she wouldn't stop him. He didn't expect this.

Isabelle could feel his eyes feasting on her, measuring her up as if he just found something new there. Incredible how such tension could awake the sexual hunger within him. It wasn't just on the outside, though, the gaze penetrated more deeply, perhaps looking for the source of those little arrows of instinctive.  
>She realized how she could seduce him so easily, right now, eliberate him of the tension, that suppressed energy which still wanted to come out. Such an intriguing power in her. At once, his mouth grazed over hers wildly, claiming her. She could feel it in her spine as he moved lower, his chin a little prickly between her breasts.<p>

He huffed all irritated as a discreet knock on the door stopped the game. She quickly fixed her hair and went to open, as his dishevelled appearance stood behind the sofa, staring at the door. Almost hesitating to interrupt, the concierge showed up. Probably expecting a lover's quarrel, not this sudden awkward tranquility - he knew what it usually means when the atmosphere is too still. Bringing the other two letters left on the table, almost like a sign to keep their dirty laundry out of sight, perhaps he meant nothing like it, just doing a small service.

One was from her aunt, short, without beating around the bush.

* * *

><p>Her flock was calling out to her. How could he interfere? They were «her own», the thing he knew so little of. She was his own. Were there a rival, he would manage somehow. A family was something different, having it's ways and responsibility. And himself? Does a lover, one like himself, have any rights? To what extent? The promises between them have been made with no witnesses. Why, the part of him which didn't want to chain her only made it easier for her to go free. He still wanted to let it be known that she is his. He couldn't explain it.<p>

Downright jealous, indeed. She wasn't the one all alone in the world, she had a whole clan ready to keep him away.

He calculated.

The attorney boy was insignificant. It was about what he represented, quite a brave one that has done no harm, the one on the right side. Nice, young, well situated, a safe choice. So why not someone like him instead?

Then there was a matter of that villain. "I could challenge that man into a duel. Get it over with." _À l'outrance,_ no less. It could be done. Illegal it was, but still legit in the eyes of many, men especially. Many have bled in the so-called fields of honour. Not a matter of honour, though. He could take him down and finish it.  
>What about her? She didn't need him as a savior. She resented the violent nature. Though this time it seemed like she might have even let him get away with it.<p>

"You push your luck. If you end up on trial, somehow I doubt they'd pardon you."

"Trial..." He spat it out, like he would let them get him. He shook his head in irony, It wasn't only a matter of the state and law, there was also the church, trying to put an end to duels for decades now, "Laws od the state, laws of the church..." Like it ever mattered to him. He stalked his way to her side. "I guess I couldn't marry you then."

"Don't you dare make a laugh of it." Rings and chains were not on her mind right now. He could mock the institutions but who could say for certain that he'd escape the consequences? "I won't loose you for that lowlife."

"You need another scar?" The knuckels of her fingers brushed his face, that normal part. The left side, that's where dueling scars would often be. She took his hand, tracing a scar under his thumb where the knife had sliced deeply the day when they'd first touched, and claimed:  
>"This one is mine."<p>

He certainly hadn't won her over with force. Not by swords, nor illusion. Not by showing off his power.

He'd be damned if he'd let this one be taken from him. He hated the possibility.

What about her kin, then? He needed no enemies, not that he could do much about it now. But if he could have one on his side... He observed the way she carefully pulled out a photography of herself and her niece from one of the books. Not in a picture frame. How befitting. Interesting, though the black and white tones didn't give away much, he could swear that the child had the same hair color. He remembered meeting her aunt, similar thing with that one as well. Birds of the feather, he thought.

"I won't see your feathers shorn." Just like that, letting her interpret it any way she liked, and then his arms roamed over her figure, his face nuzzled against her neck.

It would be a different sort of fight for this girl.

* * *

><p>They hadn't been apart for more than a couple of hours at a time, ever since that night. There would be no waiting for another message. Some things one simply has to see for oneself to make sure.<p>

Down in the hall, looking ready, not feeling quite so, she waited as he settled the accounts with the owner. It would probably be smart to move from this place now. Not that they were going to stay here for good, anyway. She'd miss that room, though, odd as it has been.

Noticing the unpleasant look that one of the guests has aimed towards her man, hiding her mouth behind a fan - another of those comments behind one's back, Isabelle didn't hesitate to use the opportunity to approach nonchalantly, fixing a light shawl, meeting the woman's gaze in a decorative mirror on a wall, and civilly ask: "Would you stare at him like that if he had pulled you out of the fire?"  
>It was not a lie nor an ambiguous statement to excuse the misfortune of his appearance, only a meaningful rhetorical question. One of the women present was evidently uncomfortable, and perhaps some other got a thing to thoroughly think about while overhearing.<br>She didn't care to wait for an answer, clutching her lover's arm with a secretive victorious smile on her face, leaning closer to his shoulder only to make things clear. People have suspected all the while. At the moment, in their eyes, she'd somehow rather be seen a loose woman than a victim - and who in the world dares to say that it has to be either of the mentioned roles? Life is more colorful than that.

The owner must have muttered something canny, for she heard her lover say, perhaps a bit provoking: "Just because one doesn't speak much, doesn't mean she hasn't got a lot on her mind."

"Be good to her if you know what's good for you." It wasn't about him being lucky to have a beautiful woman and a decent accommodation in a respectful inn like this one, with a face like his own. That man could either be a foe, or their friend. Perhaps he's been both.

Undertone, she added: "What? Life had burned you, if nothing else."

Birds of a feather, in a way, the two of them. Could they deny that being with one another brings out aspects of themselves that would rarely come out otherwise?

Lips on lips, they kissed. It streamed right through. Something they haven't done in presence of someone else. This time the world - even if a little world of that inn, has witnessed it.

He tilted his hat, straightened his shoulders, simultaneously grew a few centimeters in height, opened the door for his lady and offered her an arm. They were a fine match after all, it was an agreed conclusion between the owner and the concierge as the strange couple passed them by, arm in arm.


End file.
